The Distant Garden
The sky tore open on a Tuesday. Not with thunder, but with a silence so heavy it pressed against the eardrums like deep water. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the training yard, his sword raised, his breath a white mist in the freezing air. He was a man built for violence, a vessel of controlled kinetic energy. His muscles were coiled springs, his eyes sharp and unblinking. He had spent...
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