The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-18 11:10:19 -

The rain fell on the highland moors of Scotland not as water, but as a fine, gray powder that seemed to erode the very substance of the world. Elias stood at the edge of the precipice, his breath ragged in the cold air, watching the storm tear at the heather below. He was nineteen, though the weight of his duty made him feel ancient, a stone worn smooth by the relentless friction of time. In...

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