The Faded Ruin
Act I The archipelago of Oros wakes not with the sun, but with the clatter of the looms in the high-pressure textile mills that line the folded hills, a sound that grinds against the bones of the border town and sets the price of every breath taken in the fog. I am Kellac Corrin, a senior weaver in the Duke’s service for thirty years, and my hands tremble as I adjust the tension on the...
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