The Wistful Saga
Act I Custodia Zuzarte had served the Porto river customs for twenty-two years, a tenure that had worn the enamel off his teeth and the color from his uniform, yet it had not bought him the pension he was owed. The morning air in the maintenance bay smelled of ozone and wet peat, the haze from the distant fires pressing against the windows like a physical weight that restricted the hours of...
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