The Wistful Atlas
The rain in Kurogane did not fall so much as it settled, a grey, industrial mist that coated the mill village in a film of damp that no amount of scrubbing could remove. Himari Kato stood on the pavement outside the customs office, his fingers wrapped around the cold brass of the astrolabe, the weight of it pressing a dark bruise into his palm where the skin had already begun to blister from...
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