The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-19 19:38:05 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the Hall of Whispers tasted of iron and old incense, a thick, metallic sweetness that coated the back of my tongue and settled heavy in the lungs, as if we were breathing not air but the suspended dust of centuries. I stood before the High Chancellor, a figure carved from the same cold stone as the pillars that held up the vaulted ceiling, his eyes two deep wells of judgment from...

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