The Faded Chronicle
The wind did not howl across the salt-scoured heath of the Northumbrian moors; it whispered, a low and constant friction against the stones of the watchtower where Elias Vane stood, his body fused so tightly to the crumbling masonry that the distinction between flesh and rock had long since dissolved into a single, aching entity. He was not merely guarding the tower; he was the tower, a...
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