The Faded Root
The clock in the workshop struck three, a hollow, wooden thud that vibrated through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and into the marrow of his knees, and with that final toll came the silence of the town and the sudden, crushing weight of the object in his hands, the Faded Root, a sliver of petrified oak that had been growing heavier in his grip for the last hour, not with mass but with a...
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