The Distant Temple
Vael was a city of soot and semaphore lines, a place where the wind off the plateau carried the taste of iron and the distant, rhythmic clatter of the eighty-four Old Brick kilns that fed the treaty port’s hunger. The humidity swelled the doors of the foundry until they groaned against their frames, a physical fact that no amount of will could override. It was here, in the mirror-flat silence...
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