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Every morning at 6:15 a.m., Daniel Ortiz woke to the soft chime of his alarm. He would lie still for exactly thirty seconds, listening to the pipes knock in the walls of his apartment in Chicago. The building was old enough to sigh in winter and complain in summer, and Daniel found comfort in its predictability. The pipes knocked. The radiator hissed. The neighbor upstairs shuffled across her kitchen tile at 6:19. Order. Sequence. Proof that the world was proceeding as scheduled.Then he would rise, shower, dress in one of five nearly identic...
The dragon was punctual.At precisely noon, as the bell in the Ashbourne chapel rang its twelfth solemn note, a shadow passed over the village square. It was a vast, winged shadow—the sort that usually heralded doom, incineration, and at least one emotionally devastating monologue.The villagers reacted accordingly.Bread was dropped. A basket of turnips overturned. Three separate individuals shouted, “It’s happening!” though none specified what “it” was. Everyone seemed confident it involved fire.The dragon descended in a controlled spiral and...
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