The Silent Reach
The fog did not merely drift over the island of the Silent Reach; it owned it. It was a thick, suffocating shroud of grey that tasted of salt and ancient grief, clinging to the jagged obsidian cliffs like a funeral pall. Julian stood at the edge of the pier, his coat dampened by a persistent, freezing drizzle. He was a man of words, a poet whose verses had once captured the ephemeral light of...
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