The Faded Ruin
The rain in this part of the city does not wash things clean; it merely makes the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into mirrors that reflect nothing but the grey, soot-stained sky and the distant, skeletal silhouettes of the factory chimneys. You are standing at the edge of the Grand Hall, a place that was once the beating heart of the Ministry of Order, where the air used to smell of...
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