The Distant Legend
The ledger was not a book of records, but a cage of geometry. I held the quill like a scalpel, my hand steady, my mind a cold, humming engine of calculation. In the grand hall of the Bureau of Anomalous Continuity, the air smelled of ozone and old dust, a scent that had long since seeped into the pores of my skin. I was not a man; I was a function. A variable solved. A debt paid in ink. My name...
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