The Golden Myth
The mud on the left side of Elias Thorne’s face was not merely dirt, but a heavy, slick substance that seemed to breathe against his skin, a second layer of flesh that had grown over the years of service and forgotten the light. He stood at the edge of the ravine, the wind tearing at the hem of his tunic, and watched the fog roll down from the peaks like a slow, white tide, erasing the world he...
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