The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-18 23:57:20 -

The Wistful Ashes

The city breathed in a rhythm that was not its own. It was a mechanical exhalation, a constant, low hum that vibrated in the marrow. Elias stood on the corner of Ninth and Main, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. He wore the grey uniform of the Order. The fabric was rough against his palms. It scratched. It reminded him of the skin he had lost. Or the skin he had shed. He did not...

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