The Distant Wound
The sky above the Ironworks did not break; it peeled. One moment, the air was thick with the sulfurous tang of smelting and the low, mechanical hum of the looms that wove steel into thread. The next, the horizon shuddered, a great, invisible hand dragging the firmament back like a curtain of heavy velvet. Through the tear, a light poured out that was not sunlight, not moonlight, but a cold,...
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