The Pale Banner
Thorne. The call came from the shadows of the gallery, sharp and dry as a cracking bone, cutting through the hum of the ventilation system that kept the air in the High Archive dry enough to preserve vellum but too arid for human lungs. You straightened your spine, the leather of your chair creaking in protest, and looked up to see Archivist Valerius standing at the top of the stairs, his...
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