The Faded Ruin
The glass in the center of the table had not been broken for three days, yet the light refracted through it in a way that suggested a fracture, a hairline crack running from the rim to the base like a vein of dried blood beneath clear ice. Elias stood before it, his hands resting on the polished mahogany, the wood cool and smooth against his palms, a surface that felt more solid than the air...
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