The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-18 04:49:33 -

The Wistful Saga

The forge was cold. It had been cold for three days. Thomas did not light it. He sat on the iron bench, the metal biting into his thighs, watching the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light from the high window. The air tasted of coal smoke and old blood. He was a man of iron. He shaped it. He broke it. He held it. But today, the iron would not hold him. The door opened. No knock. It...

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