The Golden Circuit
The letter sits on the desk, the ink still wet and smelling of iron. 14 March 1892 Kael Outpost Mara, The wind here is not just cold; it is a weight that presses against the shutters until the wood groans. I am writing to tell you that the pension is delayed. Not lost, but held. The Command has questions about my ledger. They suspect I have been moving contraband across the line. I have not. I...
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