The Pale Banner
The loom waits in the dark, a skeletal thing of black oak and iron that hums with a frequency you feel in your teeth rather than hear with your ears, and you stand before it with your hands trembling, not from cold, but from the terrible, hollow weight of what you are about to lose. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a master weaver in the walled town of Oakhaven, and the Guild Law is a...
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