The Wistful Ashes
The road to the Spire was not a road at all, but a scar of white quartz that cut through the violet fog of the Undercity, winding upward into a sky that had forgotten the sun. Silas Vane walked it with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a man who had long ago ceased to count his steps, his boots striking the crystalline surface with a dull thud that echoed back to him from the walls of the tunnel like...
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