The Distant Wound

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2026-08-22 16:03:39 -

The Distant Wound

The chisel was cold, a slab of iron that seemed to drink the warmth from Elias’s palm. He held it against the mortar joint of the bell tower’s north face, the metal biting into the ancient stone with a sound like a dry cough. Below, in the square of Oakhaven, the winter solstice feast had begun. The smell of roasting pork and spiced wine drifted up, mixing with the damp, mineral scent of the...

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