The Pale Tower
The fog had not lifted since the tide turned, and the silence of the canal was so heavy it felt like a physical weight against the glass of the workshop window. Efua Boateng stood before the drafting table, his hands hovering over the vellum, watching the ink dry into a shape that did not match the one in his mind. He was a master of the Imperial Seal, a title that had once commanded the...
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