The Pale Meridian
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the bruised, swollen sky, a thick and gray vapor that clung to the wet stone of the Citadel like a shroud, blurring the lines between the ancient architecture and the living men who moved within its shadowed corridors. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the center of the Grand Hall, his back rigid against the cold draft that seeped through the high,...
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