The Faded Frontier
The stone house did not stand. It hovered, three feet above the muddy ground of the valley, its foundation pillars of black iron humming with a low, resonant frequency that vibrated in the teeth. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands slick with sweat and cold rain, staring up at the structure that had defied gravity for three hundred years. He was not a man of magic, nor of prophecy. He was a...
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