The Distant Temple
The silver locket is not what you think it is, Elias. It is not a relic of the old world, nor a trophy of some forgotten war. It is a debt. A specific, crushing, and immediate debt that smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, and it is the only reason you are standing in the rain outside the Guild Hall, your coat soaked through to the skin, your hands trembling not from the cold but from the...
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