The Distant Metropolis
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a sigh. It was a dry, papery exhalation from the heart of the building, a sound that Elias Thorne heard before he saw the smoke curling up the shaft of the old library. He stood in the corridor, his hand pressed against the cold plaster, feeling the vibration of the collapse that had already begun. The Great Hall, where the city’s history was kept...
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