The Faded Dust
The iron gates of the City of Aethelgard did not open with the creak of rust or the groan of strain, but with a sigh, a long and mournful exhalation of air that smelled of ozone and dried lavender, as the sky above them turned the color of a bruised plum, signaling the arrival of the Silence. Elara Vance stood at the threshold, her hand resting on the cold metal, her eyes fixed not on the...
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