The Distant Wound
Act I The fog in the Tōhoku farm belt did not lift; it thickened. Kenji Shimizu stood in the trench, the mud sucking at his boots, the weight of his rifle a familiar anchor against the chaos. He was thirty-four, a man whose dowry had been spent on a doctor who could not save his brother, and now he fought in the industrial trenches of the Court of Ash. The air smelled of salt and iron, the...
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