The Faded Dust
The cart groaned under the weight of the silver ingots, a sound that was less a mechanical complaint and more like a low, tectonic groan rising from the earth itself, vibrating up through the wooden planks of the floor into the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots as he walked the narrow, dust-choked path that wound through the high, scrubby moors, a landscape that seemed to have been scraped clean by...
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