The Golden Downtown
The rain on the cobblestones of the old capital did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the city into a mirror of its own decay. You walked with your head down, the weight of the iron key cold against your hip, a small, heavy secret that hummed with a frequency only you could feel. It was a key to the High Council’s vault, a thing of such mundane utility that it...
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