The Distant Nightmare
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the mud around the manor into a thick, sucking paste that held the boots of the garrison like a trap. Captain Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the great hall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though the blade was rusted and dull, a relic of a war that felt as distant and mythical as the legends they whispered about. The house was...
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