The Wistful Incense
The air in the atrium smells of ozone and polished steel. You stand at the base of the central pillar. Your hands are still. They are always still. This is the first rule of the Order. Stillness is strength. Stillness is truth. Above you, the Council watches. They sit in high-backed chairs that look like thrones made of glass and wire. Their faces are smooth. They do not blink. You feel their...
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