The Distant Garden
The silence in the atrium was not empty; it was a physical weight, a thick, gelatinous substance that pressed against the eardrums and settled in the hollows of the chest, demanding a stillness that Elias Thorne had forgotten how to hold. He stood at the edge of the polished obsidian floor, his back to the central dais where the Council of Governance sat in their high-backed chairs, their faces...
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