The Faded Quadrant
The iron gate of the Citadel of Saint Aldric did not groan when it opened, nor did the hinges sing their rusted hymn to the morning dew; instead, the silence that followed your entry was so profound it felt like a physical weight pressing against your eardrums, a thick, viscous void that swallowed the sound of your own boots on the cobblestones, leaving you suspended in a bubble of absolute,...
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