The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 07:40:39 -

The Distant Wound

You hold the chisel. The wood is cold. It bites into your palm. Look at the grain. It is old. It is tired. You are in the Hall of Seals. The air smells of dust and sweat. There are no windows. Only the glow of the brazier. You carve. The wood shaves away. Thin ribbons. They curl on the floor. Do you know what you are making? No. You do not know. The Master is watching. He stands in the shadow....

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