The Pale Banner
The iron fog did not just hang over the city of Oakhaven; it choked the streets, a grey, suffocating blanket that tasted of rust and burnt coal. You are standing on the roof of the textile mill, your boots slipping on the slick, soot-blackened slate. Below you, the machinery of the lower district grinds and groans, a mechanical heartbeat that has outpaced the human pulse for decades. In your...
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