The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-23 17:40:22 -

The wax seal, cold and hard as a river stone, sat in my palm, its crimson surface cracked down the middle like a dried lip. It was the Guild Master’s mark, the only thing between my son’s future and the dust, and I had held it for three days while the city outside my window groaned under a weight it could not name. I was Elias, a scribe of thirty years, a man of ink and parchment, and I had...

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