The Wistful Mirror
The ink is dry, Elias, but the stain remains. You hear the Guild Master’s voice before you see him, a low rumble that vibrates through the floorboards of the scriptorium. He stands in the doorway, his shadow falling across the parchment you have spent the last six hours perfecting. The Royal Charter, the document that binds the city’s trade agreements to the crown, lies spread out before you....
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