The Pale Tale
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a silence so absolute that it felt like a physical weight pressing against the eardrums, a vacuum that swallowed the usual hum of the city before the first crackle of flame tore through the dark. Elias Thorne stood in the center of his workshop, a place that had once smelled of sawdust, linseed oil, and the sharp, metallic tang of heated brass, now...
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