The transition from the suffocating, sulfurous underworld of the Serpent's Flue into the open air of the Grey Marshlands was like waking from a fevered nightmare into a world of silver mist and cool water. As the hidden stone counterweight swung open beneath a curtain of ancient weeping willows, the morning air rushed over them—crisp, clean, and smelling of damp peat, wild mint, and water lilies. Overhead, the pale amber…
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