The Faded Root
The truck sputtered, coughing a plume of black smoke into the pale, indifferent sky, before rolling to a halt in the gravel courtyard. You step out, your boots crunching against the loose stones, the sound sharp and lonely in the stillness. The air smells of damp earth and old rust, a scent that clings to the wool of your uniform. You are here to inspect. That is the job. That is the mission....
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