The Faded Ruin
The banquet hall of the Citadel of Ash was a cathedral of iron and shadow, where the air hung thick with the scent of roasted lamb and the metallic tang of old blood. It was a place where power did not shout but hummed, a low, vibrating frequency that settled in the bones of those who entered. At the head of the long, obsidian table sat the High Magistrate, a figure draped in robes of woven...
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