The Pale Circus
The order was written on heavy, cream-colored paper, the ink slightly faded, the corners soft from being handled by many hands. You read it twice, standing in the muddy yard of the Ranger’s Hall, the rain drumming a steady, dull rhythm against the thatched roof. It was a simple directive, signed by the Captain with a sharp, angular hand: *Retrieve the Lantern. It is Silas’s. It is yours. Do not...
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