The Faded Sutra
You cannot read it, Elias. Not tonight. Not ever." Brother Thomas’s voice was low, a gravelly rasp that cut through the hum of the scriptorium. He did not look up from his work, his quill scratching a sharp, aggressive line into the vellum. Elias stood frozen, the heavy, wax-sealed codex in his hands feeling suddenly cold, the leather binding slick with the dampness of the high-altitude air...
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