The Pale Banner
In the year 1348, the air in the workshop smelled of hot wax and old sweat. Elias Thorne held a steel chisel between his thumb and forefinger, the metal slick with the sweat of his palms. He was thirty-two years old, and his hands, once steady as a surgeon’s, now trembled with a fine, persistent vibration that he could not stop. The chisel hovered over a block of soft stone, a blank slate...
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