The Wistful Throne
The northern cape churned with the industry of survival, a fortress colony where the humidity swelled every door until the wood groaned like a living thing, and the air hung heavy with the salt-rot of the sea and the damp wool of the workers. In the counting house of scales and ledgers, Ketil Isdahl sat before a sheet of parchment, his fingers stained with ink, tracing the disputed ridge that...
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