The Faded Shield
The ink in Silas Vane’s fingers had long since ceased to be a mark of his trade and had become a permanent, blackened tattoo, a visual echo of the forbidden texts he had spent thirty years cataloging in the deep vaults of the Aethelgard court. He stood before the Chancellor, a man whose face was as smooth and unreadable as the marble floor beneath their feet, and spoke with the quiet, desperate...
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