The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-24 16:02:10 -

Thorne, you are late again. The voice did not come from the front desk, where the ink-stained clerk usually sat, but from the very air of the Undercity, a sound like dry paper tearing in a silent room. Elias Thorne stopped his stride, his boots scuffing against the cobblestones that were slick with a perpetual, oily dampness. He was forty years old, though he looked older, his face a map of...

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