The Distant Whispers
The rain against the window of the archive room sounded like a thousand fingers tapping for attention, a persistent, wet drumming that Elias Thorne had learned to ignore over twenty years of service. He sat before the *Codex Umbra*, the leather-bound tome open to a page that had not been there an hour ago, the ink shimmering with a faint, oily iridescence that seemed to pulse in time with his...
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