The Mercy of the Executioner
The altar was made of a material that didn't exist in any textbook—a shimmering, translucent obsidian that seemed to swallow the light of the surrounding stars. I, Seraphina, stood before it, the Key of Oblivion heavy in my hand. For centuries, our people had clung to the edges of the collapse, building fragile shelters in the folds of space. We called it 'Survival', but I called it a...
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