The Wistful Voyage
The notice was pinned to the barrack wall, the paper yellowed and brittle as old skin, bearing the seal of the Salt Guild and a line of text that read: All assets of the deceased are subject to the Soul Tax until the debt is cleared. Sagal Mrisho stood before it, his fingers twitching at his sides. He was twelve years old, thin as a reed, with hands that were too large for his wrists and...
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