The Faded Chronicle
The fire breathed. It was an old, deep breath. It rattled in the chimney of the high tower. Elias sat in the chair. His hands were still. They lay on his knees. They were the hands of a man who had built the world. He was a glassblower. The glass was gone. Only the ash remained. The ash was grey. It was fine. It covered the floor like snow. Elias looked at the fire. He did not blink. His eyes...
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