The Pale Banner
The vellum was cold, slick with the damp that always clung to the basement of the Oakhaven Archive. You held it under the halogen lamp, the light buzzing like a trapped fly, and watched the ink bleed. Three years you had spent chasing this fragment, the Pale Banner, a scrap of medieval parchment that whispered your name when the lights went out. It was a stupid thing to believe, but you were...
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