The Pale Fracture

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2026-08-20 17:34:22 -

The Pale Fracture

The banquet hall of the Ironworks District did not smell of wine, but of coal dust and stale sweat. It was a cavernous space, the roof lost to a haze of orange smog that hung low over the city of New Bristol, pressing down on the corrugated tin roofs like a heavy hand. The tables were long, rough-hewn planks scarred by the tools of the shift, and the food was thin, gray porridge served in...

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