The Last Column

The one fluted bronze pillar still standing in the Leaning Columns field, canted hard to the east, warmer to the touch than any other on a north wind — runners navigate the maze of fallen stone by it.

Stand at its foot and the ground holds warmth underfoot, faint and strange, as if the column's roots still run to the Imperium's forge below. No one knows why this one pillar did not fall when the others did. The runners say it is because it was set a hair deeper than the rest, and when the rest broke, the deeper footing held.