Sample V-01: The Last Bastion
(Style: Victorian Melancholy) The sky over Aethelgard had long since forgotten the color of blue. It was a bruised purple, heavy with the scent of ozone and the metallic tang of a dying world. Arthur sat in the command spire, the only place in the city where the heat-generators still hummed, though their song was now a rattling cough. He looked at the chronometer. Three hours. In three hours,...
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