The Faded Frontier
Elias. The name was called out by Aldous Vane, a man whose voice had the dry, brittle texture of old parchment being torn, and it cut through the low hum of the banquet hall with the precision of a scalpel. I turned, my movement heavy, weighed down by the velvet of my coat and the sheer density of the air in this windowless room. We were forty feet underground, in the heart of the estate,...
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