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Featuring new cover art: “Kodran Migrant Fleet” by Tyler Edlin.
Of course it was impossible. They were shaping impossibility here: a miracle so great it approached blasphemy. And Kahzakutri was not vandalizing this creation. If anything, She was generous. She gave it a core of Herself. The essence of loss, of grief—the urge to undo.
Semira watched Aniver hold audience with the Queen of the Dead, nerving herself to cross the river to them.
I realized I was thinking of my brother's guilt as a matter of 'if,' and rebuked myself. This was what I had joined the Quiet to do, to punish wrongdoing in the City and protect its peace. Family loyalty had no place in the ranks. There was no reason to suspect anyone else.
I played the memory three more times. On the last time, I saw a hand reach down and take something.
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Horimachi's own tattoos were from before the war, when black ink was made of soot instead of faery blood.
From the Archives:
“That’s why I’ve never loved my sister. I’ve always known the last thing I’ll ever see is her sewing my eyes shut.”