The Pale Echo
The rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edges of the city into a watercolor smear of brick and iron. I stood in the center of the courtyard of the Blackwood Institute, my back to the wall, my hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword that had not tasted blood in a century, though the steel still hummed with a low, resonant frequency that I felt in my...
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