The Faded Ruin
The crack in the obsidian seal did not look like damage; it looked like a wound. Elias Thorne sat in the sterile white light of the detention ward’s administrative office, the heavy stone disc resting on the steel desk before him, and watched a single drop of black ink well up from the fissure, spreading in a slow, viscous circle across the polished surface. He was forty years old, a senior...
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