The Wistful Saga
The train hissed into the station of Oakhaven, a long, shuddering exhalation that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones. He stepped off the platform, his leather satchel heavy against his hip, the leather cracked and worn soft by decades of handling delicate, impossible things. The air in the city was thick, not with the damp chill of the countryside he had left, but with a...
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