The Golden Crossing
In the center of the High Steward’s oak desk, a single sheet of parchment lay flat, its edges curled by the heat of the room. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands heavy with the dust of the quarry, the weight of the stone he had hauled for thirty years still settled in his shoulders. He did not look at the ink, but at the man behind the desk, the man who had once carved his first chisel...
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