Encontró una tablet que no solo almacenaba memoria, sino que también la creaba. ¿Hasta dónde estarías dispuesto a llegar por un recuerdo perfecto? El Oráculo de los 24 Atardeceres El paquete llegó sin remitente, solo una etiqueta con su nombre: “ Dr. Alvaro Rojas , para sus atardeceres” . Adentro, envuelta en un silicio suave como terciopelo negro, estaba la Tablet Android 15 de 10.1 pulgadas . No parecía salida de una fábrica, sino cultivada . Su pantalla HD de 2560x1440 píxeles era un estanque de obsidiana líquida, profundo y listo para reflejar mundos. Alvaro, neurólogo retirado y viudo, la encendió. El Octa Core no roncó; susurró al ser activado. Pero el verdadero gancho no fue su velocidad, sino la primera notificación: *“ Memoria principal: 24GB . Memoria expandible detectada: +8GB . Espacio emocional disponible : Ilimitado. ¿Importar recuerdo clave?”*. Con un pulso tembloroso, Alvaro seleccionó el video más preciado de su archivo: ...
Once upon a time, there was a secret society of dental artisans called *The Enamel Guild.* They did not only learn dental laboratory techniques like the rest of us; no, these specialists were trained in secret colleges found only by those who possessed the *Key of Grin,* a rare artifact thought to be lost centuries ago.
The club was legendary for crafting dentures so fine they looked like original, flawless teeth—even if you were missing all of them! Souls said the founder, Sir Molarius Smilestone, might recreate each molar in the mouth of a dragon using nothing more than a toothbrush, a candle, and a rare kind of mysterious clay. But, such abilities were only acquired at select and hard-to-find dental laboratory technician colleges. Every year, prospective students would flock to known locations—ancient castles, deserted woods, even busy coffee shops rumored to be entry points—but only a handful of aspirants found their way.
Those who did, stumbled into a world quite different from what they would expected. Imagine a university where classrooms were full of whirling teeth models, animated jaw models that bit if you did not handle them the right way, and professors who, legend had it, were not quite human themselves. A few whispered that these instructors were part of the original Enamel Guild and had been alive since the time of Smilestone himself, kept youthful by special ivory elixirs.
But it was not all porcelain crowns and occlusal magic. Graduates of these secret colleges held a burden: they might never use their skills for profit alone. Instead, they had to heal smiles that had been broken for centuries—cursed fangs of ancient queens, troll molars lost in battle, and even the cursed golden tooth of Sir Toothbert the Brave, which, once properly set, would bring the kingdom prosperity.
Perhaps you have seen a smile a bit too perfect or dentures that seem to carry a gleam of magic. If so, you might have ran into the handiwork of these mysterious technicians—graduates of the hidden colleges of the Enamel Guild, using ancient arts to perfect the smiles of mortals and mythical creatures alike.
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