The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-24 06:07:06 -

The Wistful Saga

The ink was cold. It sat in the ironwell, black and still as a pupil, waiting to be drawn. Elias wiped his hands on his rag, the fabric already stiff with grime and the faint, sweet rot of old paper. He was twelve, small for his age, with knuckles swollen from scrubbing the stone floors of the Hall of Records. The air in the room was thick, smelling of dust and the metallic tang of fear. He...

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