The Golden Crossing
The parchment lay on the counter, its edges curled like dried leaves, bearing the Guild’s seal in red wax that had cracked down the center. Elias Thorne stared at the ledger entry: a fine for unlicensed distillation, two hundred crowns, due before the next new moon. It was a sum that would eat his savings, his tools, and perhaps his license, but he did not sign. He folded the paper with a...
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