The Faded Root
The ink bled from the parchment like a slow, dark weeping, staining the topographic lines of the borderlands in a smear of violet black. Elias Thorne watched the anomaly with the detached precision of a man observing a fault in a survey, his hands steady despite the tremor in his chest. He was forty-five, a cartographer of long tenure, and he was packing his instruments to leave Oren for the...
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