The Wistful Campus
The rain had stopped, but the mist clung to the cobblestones of Aethelgard like a damp shroud, refusing to lift. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the faculty office, his knuckles white around the leather portfolio that held his life’s work. Inside, Dean Vane sat behind a desk of dark oak, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference, a stamp resting in his hand like a weapon. "You are...
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