The Faded Ruin
The air in the lower vaults of the Citadel did not smell of rot, as one might expect in a place where the light had not touched the stone in three centuries, but rather of dry paper and the metallic tang of old blood that had long since dried into the porous walls, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a physical weight. I stood in the center of the circular chamber, the floor cold...
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