The Wistful Crossroads
The bell tower cracked. Not a hairline fracture. A split. The stone groaned like a dying beast. Dust rained down on the square. Elias stood in the mud. He watched the debris fall. He did not run. Running was for those who had not yet seen the truth. The King’s banner snapped in the wind. Black silk. Red blood. It whipped against the broken arch. Elias was a clerk. He kept the ledgers. He...
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