The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-17 21:02:16 -

The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a slow, grey breath that settled into the stones of the citadel. It was a damp, clinging mist that smelled of wet wool and old iron, the kind of weather that seemed to seep into the marrow of the bones and stay there. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the rampart, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the valley below...

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