The Faded Shield
Thorne, you are late again, and the steam is rising from the assay table in a manner that suggests you have left the furnace unattended while you stood there staring into the middle distance like a man who has forgotten his own name. The voice came from the shadows of the ledger room, cool and distinct, cutting through the humid, metallic air of the Imperial Mint. Elias Thorne did not turn...
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