The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-20 15:18:00 -

The mortar in Elara’s hands was cold, a paste of ground bone and river clay that smelled of the damp earth beneath the city’s foundations. She looked up from the mixing bowl to meet the eyes of the Magistrate, who stood at the threshold of the workshop, his cloak heavy with the morning mist that clung to the spires of Oryn. "You are late, Elara," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of the usual...

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