The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-22 12:55:12 -

The parchment lay on the oak desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry air of the scriptorium, and I read the Duke’s order three times before my hands began to shake. It was a simple directive, written in the Duke’s own cramped hand, requesting the completion of the *Chronicle of the North* by the winter solstice. I am Elias, forty-two, and for the past decade I have been the Duke’s scribe,...

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