The Distant Legend
The ledger sat in my palm, its leather cover cracked and stained with the damp rot of the basement, the spine held together by a strip of silver tape that had long since surrendered its adhesive grip. I was Elias Thorne, forty-two, a junior archivist whose entire career had been a slow, grinding climb toward a tenure that felt less like a reward and more like a debt I was paying in silence. The...
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