The Distant Crown
The rain against the window of Elias Thorne’s apartment was a rhythmic, grey percussion that matched the slow decay of his neurons. He sat at his desk, the wood scarred by decades of pen scratches, and opened the leather-bound volume of the Crown Codex, the artifact that had consumed the last twenty years of his life and, it now seemed, the last few months of his mind. Elias was fifty-four, a...
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