The Distant Blade
The seal breaks. Not with a crack, but with a sigh of iron groaning against iron. You are standing in the rain, and the rain is not water. It is memory, liquid and cold, washing the soot from the streets of a city that should not exist yet is, stubbornly, here. You feel the weight of the brand on your left shoulder blade. It does not hurt anymore. It has become part of the bone, a second...
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