The Distant Legend
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed against the glass of the keep, a relentless, grey hand trying to peel the stone from its mortar, and inside the small, windowless office at the end of the corridor, Silas Thorne sat with his back to the door, his hands resting on the cold oak table, feeling the vibration of the storm travel up through his boots and into the marrow of his bones. He...
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