The Wistful Incense
Act I Could a man hold a city together with his bare hands? Slobodan Petrosyan stood in the courtyard of his home, the stone beneath his feet cold and wet from the morning mist that clung to the Balkan coast. He was thirty-two, a stone-mason in the floating city of Aethel, and he wanted only to restore the cracked foundation of his wife Elara’s tower before the winter solstice. The city’s...
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