The Distant Joke
The sky tore open above the Hall of Whispers not with lightning, but with a sound like a great bone snapping, a wet, heavy crack that silenced the roosters and froze the blood in the veins of the courtiers who stood in the high, vaulted gallery, watching the sun bleed into the stone. It was the Day of the Rupture, as the histories would later call it, the moment when the old magic, that thick,...
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