The Distant Crown
Act I "Can you see the line from where you stand?" Colonel Ha asked, his voice low over the sound of machine oil being poured through a funnel, a thick, metallic drip that marked the seconds like a slow, dying clock. Thị Nam, thirty-four years old and tired to the bone of the alpine light that cut the marble hills like a knife, looked up from the ship’s log in its hundredth year, the leather...
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