The Faded Ruin
The wall hums, a low, grinding vibration that rattles the teeth in your skull, and you press your quill harder against the parchment to drown it out. You are Elias, thirty-two, a scribe of the fourth rank, and your hands shake not from cold but from the desperate need to finish the ledger before the Archivist’s bell rings. Outside your window, the Iron City rises in tiers of black stone, its...
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