The Wistful Crossroads
Act I "No," the High Priest said, and the word hung in the recycled air of the maintenance airlock, heavy as the wet stone we hauled for the foundation blocks. "Your blood is tainted, Georgi. The court does not heal outsiders." I stood before him, my hands trembling not from fear, but from the vibration of the object hidden in my tunic. The astrolabe pulsed against my ribs, a cold, rhythmic...
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