The Distant Joke

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2026-08-20 16:37:54 -

The Distant Joke

The fog did not clear. It thickened. Elias Vane stood at the edge of the precipice. Below, the city of Aethelgard slept under a blanket of gray smog and iron dust. It was not a place on any map. It existed only in the margins of the mind, a construct of collective guilt and industrial ambition. The air tasted of ozone and old copper. Elias adjusted his spectacles. The lenses were cracked. He...

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