The Distant Crown
The shard of the Distant Crown lay in Elias Thorne’s palm, a sliver of violet quartz no larger than a fingernail, humming with a low, subsonic vibration that made his teeth ache. He held it over the grate of the ventilation shaft, the coal-dust thick in the air, while his twelve-year-old son, Leo, lay gasping on the cold iron floor, his veins blackening beneath the skin like ink dropped in...
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