The Distant Cartograph
The ink on the vellum was still wet, glistening under the chandelier light, and Elias Thorne held the sheet with a grip so tight his knuckles had turned the color of old bone, the weight of the parchment a physical pressure against his palms that felt heavier than the iron tools he had used for twenty years to trace the borders of Oria. He stood at the center of the Governor’s banquet, a room...
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