The Distant Cartograph
The glass was warm under my fingertips, a thin, trembling skin of silica that held the weight of the world without cracking, at least not yet. I stood in the center of the Grand Hall, the vaulted ceiling disappearing into the industrial haze of the gaslights above, and watched the liquid light shift across the surface of the artifact. It was not a map in the way the cartographers of the old...
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