The Distant Blade
I woke in the fog. The air tasted of iron and wet ash. I was standing in a corridor that did not exist in the waking world. The walls were lined with brass gears, vast and still. They turned without sound. I held a blade in my hand. It was short, cold, and heavy. The metal was black. It absorbed the pale light that seeped from the windows. I knew this object. I had not seen it in years. It...
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