The Pale Banner
The air in the Hall of Whispers did not smell of dust or decay, but of ozone and wet stone. It was a place that existed in the negative space of the world, a pocket dimension stitched into the industrial bones of the city, visible only to those who looked with the wrong angle of light. Elias Thorne stood in the center of it, his coat heavy with the static of the place. He was not here for the...
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