The Distant Blade

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 23:25:42 -

The Distant Blade

The stone groaned. It was a low, tectonic sound. The kind that lives in the marrow. We stood in the crypt. The air was thick with the dust of centuries. It tasted of iron. It tasted of old blood. I was twelve. My name was Thomas. I held the chisel. It was a piece of flint. Sharp. Cold. I had found it in the riverbed. I had carried it for three days. My fingers were numb. The cold seeped through...

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