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Gloom Of The PitChapter 1: Ashes of the Spire The Iron Spire pierced a smog-choked sky, a colossus of brass and iron, its factories belching steam that seared Jimmy Chilla’s throat with acrid heat. Gears groaned like dying beasts, airships droned above, casting shadows that sliced through slums where workers toiled, hands blackened by soot, faces etched with despair. Amber lanterns cast flickering...
© 2025 Jimmy Chilla
Portuguese
