The Distant Legend
The rain had not stopped for three days, a grey, persistent weeping that turned the cobblestones of the old estate into a slick, reflective mirror of the sky. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed chair by the cold hearth, his hands resting on the armrests, fingers curled around the wood with a grip that had grown rigid over the years. In his left hand, he held a single object: a brass compass,...
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