The Distant Joke
The ore was heavy, heavier than it looked, and it hummed with a low, grinding frequency that seemed to come from the earth itself rather than the metal. Elias Thorne, twelve years old and already stiff with the soot of the ironworks, held it in his palms while his father coughed in the corner, a wet, rattling sound that tore at the air. The year was 1912, and the winter frost was already...
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