The Faded Frontier
Marco Esposito’s hands were already moving, the charcoal smudged black against the grain of the map table, when the dream’s silver blur dissolved into the grey plaster of the room. He was thirty years old, a cartographer for the High Council of Ombra, and he was three days behind schedule on the Northern District survey. The deadline for conscription loomed like a storm front, and his hands...
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