The Distant Journey
The ink had not yet dried on the decree, but the weight of it was already a physical thing, pressing against Elias Thorne’s sternum. He sat in his study, a tower of a room that smelled of beeswax and old parchment, surrounded by the silent judgment of his library. Outside, the city of Aethelgard churned in the grey rain, a labyrinth of cobblestones and soot-stained stone where the air itself...
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