The Pale Garden
The air in the Hall of Verdicts did not smell of incense or rot, as you might expect from a place where souls are weighed, but of old iron and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone that precedes a storm which has been waiting centuries to break. You stand before the Dismantling Engine, a monstrosity of brass gears and blackened steel that dominates the center of the room, its teeth grinding slowly...
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