The Wistful Atlas
The banquet hall of the Aethelgard Institute was a cathedral of glass and steel, suspended in the void of the Upper Strata. Below us, the smog of the Lower Tier drifted like a gray ocean, obscuring the ground, hiding the people who built the foundations we stood upon. Above, the artificial sun pulsed with a sterile, white indifference, illuminating the crystal chandeliers that hung from the...
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