The Golden Mirror
The rain lashed the high windows of the Hall of Records, turning the glass into a weeping veil that obscured the world outside. Elias Thorne stood before the heavy oak desk of Lord Malcador, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the weight of the parchment in his grip. He had spent four years in this shadow, a man of ink and silence, and now he sought to clear his name from the ledger of...
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