The Faded Dust
You hold the chisel, the steel cold against your palm, the weight of it familiar as a pulse. The stone before you is a block of Orian granite, grey and dense, waiting. You lean in, pressing your ear to the rough face. The city of Oria hums around you, a low thrum of commerce and carriage wheels, but here, in the shadow of the unfinished Grand Arch, the air is still. You close your eyes. You...
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