The Faded Ruin
The memo lay on the desk, the paper thin and gray, smelling of damp stone and old ink. Elias Thorne read it twice, the words blurring slightly at the edges. He was a senior archivist, twenty years of service, and the note simply stated that his request for the Sunstone had been denied. It was a standard refusal, polite and cold, citing protocol. He looked at his hands. They were trembling. It...
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