The Wistful Voyage
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones of the Imperial Capital, a wooden box of dust and silence that carried Elias Thorne toward a destiny he had not chosen but could not refuse. He was forty-five years old, an archivist of modest renown in the provincial libraries, and he sat with his hands folded so tightly in his lap that the knuckles had turned the color of old bone, driven by an...
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