The Pale Fracture
The frost had not merely settled on the glass of Elias Thorne’s workshop window; it had colonized it, spreading its intricate, fern-like dendrites in a slow, silent conquest that turned the morning light into a fractured, kaleidoscopic haze of white and grey. Elias stood before his workbench, a small, sturdy man with hands that looked as if they had been carved from the same rough-hewn oak as...
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