The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-21 10:52:59 -

The air in the Great Hall of the Citadel tasted of old stone and iron. It was a cold, dry scent, the kind that settled into the lungs and refused to leave. Silas Vane stood at the foot of the dais, his boots rooted in the flagstones. He did not look up. He looked at his left hand. The fingers were pale, the knuckles swollen with a bruising that had turned from purple to a dull, necrotic yellow....

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