The Faded Sutra
The iron chalice lay on the slate floor of the refectory, split down the middle by a blow that had not yet fully registered in the minds of the men who had witnessed it. It was not a sword that had struck it, nor a mace, but the sheer, unyielding force of my own conviction, which I had projected outward until the metal, worn thin by generations of pious lips, could no longer withstand the...
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