The Wistful Ashes
You wake in the ash, though you do not remember sleeping, and the silence is not the absence of sound but a heavy, white substance that presses against your eardrums, thick and suffocating as snowfall in a sealed room. You are in the Hall of Records, a vast, circular chamber carved from the living rock of the under-city, where the air tastes of iron and old dust, and the only light comes from...
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