The Wistful Cipher
The rain in the port city of Caelum did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended gray curtain that turned the cobblestones into mirrors reflecting a sky that had forgotten how to be blue. It was the kind of weather that settled into the bones, a damp cold that whispered of rot and decay, yet the air inside the Archive of the Silent Order remained dry, preserved by the alchemical salts that...
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