The Distant Cartograph

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2026-08-16 16:44:51 -

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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