The wall was dying.
It stood in the center of the Hall of Records. A slab of stone. Grey. Cold. It had stood there for three hundred years. Now it cracked.
Elias stood before it. His back ached. His hands shook. He was old. The skin on his knuckles was like dried mud. He looked at the crack. It ran like a vein. Dark. Deep.
He loved the wall.
Not as a man loves a stone. But as a man loves his...
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