The Faded Chronicle
The iron rain does not fall; it drifts, a slow, rust-colored snow that coats the lungs of this city in a fine, metallic dust, and you stand at the edge of the Great Gear, the massive central turbine of the Undercity, watching the steam hiss through the cracks in the cobblestones, a sound like the world holding its breath before a scream. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne, and you have been here for...
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