The Faded Chronicle
The rain had not stopped for three days, a ceaseless, gray weeping that turned the red clay of the valley into a slick, sucking morass that held the boots of Sergeant Elias Thorne in a grip so tenacious it felt less like earth and more like a living thing trying to swallow him whole as he walked the perimeter of the abandoned farmstead, the mud rising to his shins, cold and heavy, soaking...
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