The Wistful Skyline
The letter sat on the desk, its seal broken, the paper cold and stiff to the touch, bearing the Guild’s official stamp in black ink that seemed to absorb the dim light of the office. Elias, the voice of the clerk had called out earlier, sharp and clipped, cutting through the low hum of the ley lines that ran beneath the floorboards like a subterranean river. I had been summoned not for a...
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