The Faded Frequency
The rain has not stopped for three days, a persistent, granular hiss that coats the windows of the Command Center in a thin, weeping film. I sit in my chair, the leather creaking under the weight of my stillness, and I watch the droplets race against one another in the glass, a chaotic geometry of grief. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am the Keeper of the Static. That is what we call ourselves,...
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