The Faded Ruin
The wind in the ruins of Aethelgard did not howl; it whispered, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a tombstone. Elias Vane stood at the base of the Silent Spire, his hand trembling as he held the Bureau’s certification tablet against the cold, jagged stone. He was thirty years old, a low-ranking censor with a promotion hanging by a thread, and he needed this structure to pass inspection....
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