The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-18 18:02:10 -

The banquet hall of the Citadel did not smell of roasted meats or fermented wine, but of ozone and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that clung to the velvet drapes like a persistent, invisible guest who refused to leave the party. General Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long table, his uniform immaculate, the gold braid on his shoulders catching the light of the gas lamps that...

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