The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-19 03:40:43 -

The Wistful Ashes

The rain fell on the glass skin of the Citadel. It did not wash the grime away. It only made the filth slick, turning the streets into rivers of black sludge that reflected the neon bleed of the propaganda screens. I stood in my cell. The floor was cold stone. My left hand hung useless at my side. A stump of bone and scar tissue. The body part that had once held the sword is now empty. I touch...

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