The Pale Banner
The fog rolled off the estuary in thick, gray sheets that smelled of brine and rotting kelp, clinging to the wool of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s tunic until it felt less like fabric and more like a second, suffocating skin that had grown over him in the dark. He stood alone at the edge of the marshland, his boots sinking into the black mud with a wet, sucking sound that seemed to echo in the...
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