The Faded Paradox
The glass shattered not with a bang, but with a sigh, a soft, wet exhale that seemed to suck the air from the room. Julian Vane stood in the center of the archive, his fingers still stained with the iridescent dust of the broken sphere. It had been a small thing, a marblesized orb of polished obsidian that the curators had labeled simply as *Specimen 404: Unknown Origin*. It was supposed to be...
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