The Distant Metropolis
The marble floor of the Chancellor’s antechamber was cold enough to seep through the soles of Elias’s boots, a chill that climbed the shins and settled in the belly like a swallowed stone. He stood before the High Chancellor, a man whose face was a landscape of bureaucratic precision, every line carved by decades of signing orders that did not require thought. In Elias’s hands, trembling with a...
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