The Faded Paradox
The first thing you must understand is that the stone does not lie, but it does not speak until it bleeds. I am Elias, twelve years old, and for the last three months I have served as the lowest scribe in the Obsidian Citadel, a fortress of black basalt built into the cliffs of the Blackwood coast. My father, the High Archivist, was found dead in his study last winter, his throat cut with a...
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