The Silent Pollutant
The sky was a bruised purple, the color of a dying empire. Elias stood upon the frost-shattered plains of what had once been Eurasia, his breath hitching in the thin, metallic air. He was the Last Voyager, a relic of the Macro-Era, clad in a suit of tarnished silver that felt more like a coffin than a garment. He had returned to a world of black and white—black basalt plains and white frozen...
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