The Wistful Skyline
The rain had persisted for three days, a gray, relentless curtain that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the jagged teeth of the ironworks. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice overlooking the foundry, his hands gripping the rusted iron railing with a tension that pulled at the muscles of his forearms. The air tasted of sulfur and wet iron, a...
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