The Distant Crown
The chisel slipped, carving a jagged groove into the obsidian tablet, and Elias Thorne wiped the black dust from his thumb before checking the time. It was 11:45 PM, and the tenure committee’s decision was due by nine the next morning. The tablet sat on the workbench, a shard of modern volcanic glass that should have been simple, yet the script on its surface seemed to shift under the harsh...
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