The Wistful Show
The static in Sector Four tasted of copper and ozone, a thick, metallic fog that clung to the back of my throat as I pressed my palm against the humming conduit. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and for twenty of those years I have served as a warden of the ley-lines, maintaining the ancient, vibrating threads of energy that keep this metropolis from dissolving into a formless void. My...
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