The Distant Journey
The ceramic bowl shattered not with a crisp, singular crack, but with a wet, grinding scream that echoed off the marble walls of the General’s antechamber, scattering shards of blue-glazed porcelain across the polished floor like the broken teeth of a god who had just been denied his daily sustenance. I stood there, my hands still raised in the awkward, protective posture of a man who has just...
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