The Faded Road
The chisel lay in Elias Thorne’s palm, its handle worn smooth by two decades of calluses, but the metal felt heavy, a dead weight that slid against skin now stiffened by the first sharp pains of early arthritis. He turned the tool over, watching the morning light catch the edge, a sliver of gold that did nothing to warm the coldness spreading through his joints. The dream had been the same as...
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