The Distant Crown
The weight of a key is a small, cold thing that holds a great deal of silence. Hovhannes Adamyan, twenty-four years old and junior archivist, packed his desk on his last day, his movements precise and hurried, desperate to secure the permanent senior post before his mentor, Krikor, retired. The office smelled of dry dust and the faint, acrid haze from fires burning in the valley below, a...
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