The Golden Song
The ledger lay open in Elias Thorne’s hands, the paper so brittle it felt less like a document and more like the dried skin of a dead leaf, the ink faded to a rusty brown that stained his fingertips with the cold, damp chill of the tower’s interior. He sat on the stone floor of the bell tower in Oakhaven, the wind whistling through the cracks in the masonry with a low, mournful keen that...
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