The Wistful Ashes
The hum started in your left ear, a low-frequency thrum that felt like a tuning fork pressed against the bone, and you smiled because you knew what it meant. You were brilliant. That was the secret the other scribes didn’t know, that your mind produced a signal, a proof of genius that the Palace’s neural-link technology couldn't suppress. You were twelve, small for your age, sitting in the...
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