The Pale Meridian
Thorne. The name hung in the air, sharp and cold, spoken by Head Archivist Silas Vane. It was not a greeting. It was a summons. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the Council chamber, his coat damp from the street, his boots leaving dark, wet prints on the polished oak floor. He held a rolled blueprint under his arm, the paper stiff with rain. Behind him, the fog of Vael pressed against the...
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