The Distant Blade
The quill is heavy in your hand, its nib clogged with a viscosity that defies the dry air of the tower room. You are Elias, forty-two years old, a scribe of modest reputation and considerable debt, and you want only to finish the *Codex Aeternum* before the winter solstice to secure your release from the Duke’s custody. The ink on the first page is not black but a deep, arterial red, and it...
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