The Golden Crossing
The banquet hall of the Aetherium did not exist on any map, yet its chandeliers burned with the cold, white fire of a star that had forgotten how to die. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long, obsidian table, his hands folded over the silverware, feeling the weight of his rank in his bones. He was a General, or had been, in the world of asphalt and rain that he could no longer quite recall....
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