The Distant Metropolis
The rain did not fall so much as it was hammered against the cobblestones of the King’s Highway, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the world into a blur of wet slate and bruised earth. Caelan stood in the mud, his armor slick and heavy, the iron plates groaning under the weight of his own stillness. The village of Oakhaven lay behind him, a skeletal thing of broken beams and blackened...
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