The Distant Promise
The banquet hall of the Guild of Arcane Preservation smelled of roasted boar and ozone, a cloying mix that clung to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat. He stood at the head of the long oak table, his hands trembling so violently that the crystal goblet in his grip rattled against its saucer. The candles flickered in a wind that had no source, casting long, jagged shadows across the faces of the...
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