The Distant Legend
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a suspended, grey mist that clung to the high, vaulted ceiling of the old armory, turning the dust motes into slow, drifting galaxies within the stagnant air. Elias Vane stood before the polished oak table, his hands resting on the cold surface, feeling the grain of the wood beneath his fingertips as if it were a living pulse, a heartbeat that had...
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