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... n the marble steps of the Council Hall, my neck craned back so far it was starting to ache. Above the morning haze of Silver-Port, the clouds weren’t just clouds. One particular mass, thick and grey, gave a distinct, rhythmic flicker, like a dying lightbulb. Every time the "haze" glitched, the jagged, obsidian underside of a massive fortress peeked through. It was upside down, clinging to the underside of a floating island as if gravity were merely a suggestion it had chosen to ignore.
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