The Faded Ruin
The fog does not drift here; it stands. It is a solid, gray wall that presses against the windows of the High Tower, obscuring the horizon and erasing the sun, leaving you in a perpetual, bruised twilight. You are not a king, nor a wizard, though you wear the robes of the Order and sit at the head of the long table where the lesser scribes tremble with the cold. You are only Elias, the Keeper...
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