The Faded Ruin
The smell of the Citadel’s archives is a wet, fungal rot that seeps into your pores and settles in the marrow, a scent that has become indistinguishable from the taste of your own fear. You are Elias, thirty-four years old, a scribe of the Third Order, and your fingers are permanently stained with the indigo ink that records the sins of the city’s citizens. For twenty years, you have served...
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