The Faded Sutra
Chapter One The thread that bound the Grand Sutra snapped with a sound like a bone breaking in a quiet room. It was the third of November, and the ink on my fingers was already drying, cracking against the skin as I stared at the frayed edge of the parchment where the divine names used to be. I am Ahmad Rustom, a junior scribe of twenty-two years, and I have spent the last six months grinding...
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