The Distant Blade
The hammer did not strike the anvil with the clean, definitive crack of iron meeting iron, but with a wet, heavy thud, as if the metal had softened into flesh and then into water. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the forge, his arms raised in a posture of eternal readiness, the tongs in his left hand gripping a shape that was no longer a blade, no longer a chisel, no longer a tool of any...
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