The Pale Meridian
The iron pin bit into the earth with a sound like a bone snapping. Elias wiped the red dirt from his knuckles, the soil clinging to the dry, cracked skin of his hands, and stared at the rusted object he had dragged from the mud. It was shorter than it should have been. The top was sheared off, jagged and black, and the base had shifted three inches to the north, buried in a pocket of wet clay...
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