The Distant Legend
The rain in the city of Oram did not fall; it hovered, a suspended mist that clung to the stone and the skin, tasting faintly of copper and ozone. Elias Thorne stood on the precipice of the Ninth Spire, his armor etched with the sigils of the High Guard, the metal cold against his chest. He was a man defined by his silence, a warrior who had spent twenty years ensuring that the law was not...
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