The Distant Metropolis
The hum of the Northern Gate facility was not a sound so much as a pressure, a low-frequency vibration that Elias Thorne felt in the marrow of his bones before he heard it with his ears. He stood in the sterile, white-tiled control room, his hands trembling as he gripped the cracked ceramic compass he had inherited from his father, the needle spinning lazily, pointing toward nothing in...
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