The Distant Blade

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2026-08-22 17:04:08 -

The Distant Blade

I woke from a dream in which the ink was not black but a deep, arterial red, pulsing against the parchment like a second heart. It was the winter of 1342, and the cold in the scriptorium of the Abbey of St. Jude had settled into the very stones, a damp chill that seeped through my wool tunic and gnawed at my bones. I am Elias, a scholar of no particular renown, and I have spent the last six...

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