The Faded Root

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2026-08-25 14:03:14 -

The Faded Root

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and the cloying, sweet decay of figs, a scent that had clung to Elias Thorne’s uniform for twenty years like a second skin, a scent he had chased with the desperate, hungry devotion of a man seeking purity in a world that only offered him rot. He stood at the edge of the gilded room, his hands trembling not from age, for he was only forty, but from...

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