The Faded Chronicle

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2026-08-19 12:44:39 -

The rain had stopped, but the air still held that thick, metallic taste of the industrial district, a taste that seemed to coat the back of my throat like a bad penny. I sat on the cold concrete bench in the center of the processing room, my hands resting on my knees, and I looked down at my tunic. It was a deep, bruised purple, the wool so heavy and rough that it felt less like fabric and more...

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