The Distant Blade
The stone groans. It is a low, tectonic sound, felt in the teeth before it is heard by the ear, and the dust falls from the ceiling in fine, grey snow. You are Elias. You are forty-two. You are the scribe. The outer wall has just shattered, and the noise of the breach is a physical blow against your chest. You do not look up. You cannot look up. Your eyes are fixed on the ledger, on the page...
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