The Distant Legend
The quill felt heavy in Elias’s hand, the wood cold and damp against his palm. He stared at the parchment, where the ink had already dried, pulsing with a faint, blue-grey luminescence that matched the slow, irregular beat of his own heart. Outside the scriptorium, the wind battered the stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude, a sound like distant, angry breathing, while inside, the air was thick...
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