The Wistful Ashes
The rain fell in sheets, cold and acidic, slicking the cobblestones of Sector Four. Elias Kael held his rifle tight against his shoulder, the wood damp with sweat and something darker. Around him, the crowd surged. They did not scream. They did not plead. They simply moved, a dense tide of grey coats and pale faces, pushing against the line of soldiers with a quiet, terrifying persistence....
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