The Wistful Skyline
The bell of the Great Hall did not ring; it shuddered, a low, tectonic groan that seemed to rise from the very stones of the foundation, vibrating through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your bones. It was the Hour of the Severing, that ancient, immutable ritual of the Archive, where the accumulated dust of centuries was finally acknowledged as a threat to the integrity of the...
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