The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-24 02:16:00 -

The dream was always the same: a slab of pale granite, blank and cold, waiting for a mark that Elias knew he could not make. He woke with the taste of dust in his mouth, his right hand already trembling against the sheet. It was November in the city, the air sharp enough to cut glass, and the workshop was silent save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Elias was fifty years old, a master...

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