The Faded Sutra
The hammer fell, and the furnace died. Elias Thorne did not see the crack run through the refractory brick; he heard it, a sharp, wet snap that cut through the roar of the gas jets. The heat vanished in a second, leaving a cold draft that smelled of sulfur and burnt hair. He stood frozen, the tongs in his hand still glowing orange, while the great mouth of the crucible yawned open to reveal a...
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