The Faded Apartment
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash the city clean; it merely made the grime slicker, a viscous layer of coal dust and old blood that clung to the flagstones and the cobblestones alike, turning the medieval streets into a labyrinth of mirrors that reflected only the decay of the Guild’s monopoly. Silas Vane sat in his cramped office on the third floor of the Apothecary Hall, the air thick with...
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