The Faded Road
The ink is still wet on the parchment when the shadow moves. You are twelve years old, Elias, and your hands are shaking so badly the quill scratches a furrow into the vellum. You are a scribe in the High Court of Oakhaven, a position you earned through speed and silence, not through bloodline or favor. Today is the day you prove your father’s innocence. The charge is heretical arithmetic, a...
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