The Pale Tower
The brass gear slipped from your tweezers, a tiny, bright disc that rolled across the workbench and vanished into the shadow beneath the vice. You did not reach for it. You watched the cobblestones outside the window, slick with the October rain, and saw the reflection of the Great Tower’s spire move a fraction of a second before the stone itself swayed in the wind. It was a minor thing, a lag...
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