The Wistful Ashes
The rain in Oria did not fall; it descended, a heavy, grey sheet that turned the cobblestones into slick mirrors of the city’s decay. Elias Thorne pressed his back against the damp brick of the alleyway, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps that tasted of ash and copper. He was thirty-two years old, a sergeant in the Bureau of Order, and he was currently fighting for his life against a man...
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