The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine, cold mist that settled on the shoulders of the world and refused to lift. Elias moved through it with the slow, deliberate gait of a man who has long since stopped trying to outrun his own shadow. He was a stranger in the valley, a refugee from a war whose name had been forgotten by the victors and the vanquished alike. His coat was heavy...
The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick as wool, swallowing the lighthouse beams before they could reach the water. I stood on the pier, my hand resting on the cold iron railing. My father was gone. He had walked into the mist an hour ago, leaving only the echo of his boots on the wet wood. I waited. The sea churned below, a dark and restless thing.
I am not a man of many words. I am a man of...
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