The Distant Blade
The ink was still wet on the parchment when I felt the first tremor in the air, a subtle vibration that traveled up through the soles of my boots and settled heavily in my chest. It was not a sound, but a pressure, like the weight of a deep ocean trench. I looked up from the counter where I had been grinding pigments for the last decade, my fingers stained permanently with indigo and ochre. The...
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