The Distant Wound

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2026-08-17 22:45:15 -

The Distant Wound

The air in the Antechamber of the Third Meridian tasted of ozone and rust, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat before the first syllable was even formed. He stood with his back against the cold, polished obsidian of the wall, his hands clasped behind him, the skin of his knuckles white and raw from the strain of holding himself together. The room was vast, a cathedral...

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