The Wistful Ashes
The bells did not ring to mark the hours in the Spire, for time had been rendered obsolete by the Great Silence, a condition that the High Archivists described with such clinical detachment that it sounded less like a loss and more like a liberation. Elias Thorne sat in his alcove, the air thick with the scent of decaying vellum and the metallic tang of ozone, watching the dust motes dance in...
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