The Faded Paradox
Elias Thorne, you are late. The voice of Master Aldous did not rise, but it cut through the dust-choked air of the scriptorium with the precision of a chisel striking stone. Elias froze, his hand hovering over the iron-bound ledger. The light in the room was failing, the afternoon sun bleeding out through the high, narrow windows, turning the floating motes of dust into suspended embers. He had...
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