Chapter 60 · for subscribers
Forty-one years apart, on one page, in the same shed: a steward's private seal proofed when the old Emperor was a boy, and the same seal proofed again in the twelfth month of this winter. Nobody forged anything. Somebody walked in off a lane with a clean impression and the price of a day's work and had a dead man cut new, and the empire has no law against it because it has never once valued a dead man's name.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.