The Golden Harbor
The ink on the ledger page was still wet, a dark smear against the yellowed vellum, and you held the quill suspended above the line, your hand trembling with a fatigue that had nothing to do with sleep. You were Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, the junior archivist at Blackwood Monastery, and the job you wanted was written in the margins of the Head Archivist’s resignation letter, a letter...
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