The Distant Legend
Thorne, you’re late again. The voice came from the doorway of the workshop, sharp and clipped by the cold that had settled into the bones of the building. Elias Thorne did not look up. He was holding a fine steel chisel against a block of silver, his breath fogging in the air, the temperature inside the room having dropped ten degrees since he arrived. The cold was a labor constraint, he knew;...
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