The Golden Oath
You are late, and you are loud, and you have brought the smell of the river mud into my private study, which is an offense I will not tolerate a second time. Elias Thorne stood on the threshold of the Chief Archivist’s office, his boots caked in the black sludge of the embankment where he had spent the last six hours scraping the stones for traces of his brother. The air inside was dry,...
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