The Golden Harbor
The fog did not merely settle upon the blackened ironworks of Harrowgate; it invaded, a thick, wet shroud that tasted of sulfur and old rot, pressing against the sweat-stained face of Captain Elias Thorne until his breath came in ragged, laboring gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the suffocating weight of the air that had turned the night into a liquid prison where visibility was...
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