The Faded Chronicle
Ryke Quenn pressed his back against the cold stone, his fingers digging into the damp plaster until the nails turned white. The Grey Hum began again, a low vibration that started in the floorboards and climbed up through his spine, rattling the teeth in his skull. He was thirty years old, a penitent monk in the Abbey of the River Delta, and he had not slept in three days. The fever was a...
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