The Distant Journey

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2026-08-18 15:31:05 -

The fog did not roll in; it was there, ancient and absolute, swallowing the village of Oakhaven in a grey shroud that smelled of wet stone and rot. It was the season of the Wither, when the air turned thick enough to choke a man, and the boundaries between the living and the dead grew thin as spider silk. Elias Thorne stood on the porch of his cottage, watching the mist erase the line of the...

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