The Distant Crown
The rain tasted of copper and rust. It slicked the cobblestones of the alleyway, turning the gutters into rivers of black mud. I stood there, my coat heavy with water, my hands trembling not from the cold but from the vibration in my bones. The city was a living thing, a beast with lungs of brick and iron, and it was suffocating. We had come for the source. We had come to stop the rot. Elias...
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