The Distant Legend
The glass shattered before the words were fully formed. It happened in the Grand Hall of the Ministry of Cultural Integration. The ceiling was high, vaulted in white stone, painted with scenes of a unified nation. Below, the air was thick with the scent of polished mahogany and the stale perfume of authority. I stood at the end of the long table, my hands trembling in my pockets. My name was...
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