The Faded Sutra

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2026-08-21 18:42:26 -

The Faded Sutra

The banquet hall of the Municipal Hall smelled of roasted pork, damp wool, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear that always seems to seep into the air before a storm breaks, a smell that clung to the back of my throat as I sat at the head of the table, my uniform pressed to a severity that felt less like protection and more like a shroud, watching the faces of the city’s elite blur into a...

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