The Distant Journey
The parchment lay on the oak table, its edges yellowed and brittle, and Elara Vane’s fingers trembled not from the cold of the stone-floored chamber, but from the weight of the silence that hung between her and the Chancellor. She was twenty-four, a scribe of modest rank in the high medieval court of King Aldric, and she stood before the most powerful man in the realm, seeking the pardon of her...
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