The Wistful Ashes
The hammer fell, and the silence that followed was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that pressed against your eardrums until the ringing began, a high, thin whine that sounded like the world tearing at the seams. You did not flinch. You stood in the center of the workshop, your hands still raised, the tool clutched in a white-knuckled grip, your knuckles split and weeping red against the...
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