The Faded Root
The lock on the table was iron, black and cold, and it bit into the skin of Elias’s wrist. He did not flinch. The room smelled of wet limestone and stale urine, a thick, cloying scent that hung in the air like a physical weight, pressing against his lungs. Outside, the wind battered the stone walls of the fortress, a constant, rhythmic drumming that vibrated through the floor and up into his...
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