The Distant Metropolis
The fog in Oria does not roll in; it seeps, a slow, grey tide that climbs the cobblestones and settles into the mortar of the ancient walls. You are Elias, forty-two years old, a master mason with hands that have shaped the city’s bones for two decades, and you stand before the Great Spire, the unfinished needle of stone that pierces the low, heavy clouds above the district. Your brother,...
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