The Faded Ruin
Who is a man, if not by the weight he can carry? Sijbrand Dekker asked this of the wind, which answered only by rattling the loose shingles of the boarding house where he slept on a straw pallet. He was twelve, old enough to know that the elders in the mining borough called his family "dust-born," a slur that stuck to his skin like coal dust. He wanted to prove them wrong. He wanted the...
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