The Faded Shield
The rain in the city does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker, heavier, a film that clings to the stone and the skin. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a man whose hands have spent three decades coaxing gold leaf back to life on shields that have forgotten their own names. Your workshop smells of turpentine and old varnish, a scent that has long since replaced the memory of...
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