The Distant Crown
The air in the King’s inner chamber tasted of sulfur and old blood, a pungent mix that coated the back of my throat and settled heavily in my lungs, which were already failing. I stood before the dais, my hands trembling not from the cold of the stone floor but from the desperate, burning need to breathe without pain, while Silas, the High Alchemist, descended the steps with the slow,...
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