The Echoes of Oblivion

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2026-05-29 14:36:48 -

The fog of London did not merely drift; it clung. It was a living shroud, tasting of coal smoke and old secrets, weaving through the iron ribs of the city. For Arthur, the fog was the only thing that felt honest. Everything else—the mahogany halls of his ancestral home, the hollow laughter of the salons, the very blood in his veins—felt like a counterfeit. He stood before the Eternal Tower, a...

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