The Distant Ghost
The wind did not blow; it scoured. It was a physical weight, a grey, relentless hand that rubbed against the skin of the world, stripping away the last pretense of warmth from the highlands of the old kingdom. Here, time did not move in hours but in seasons, and the seasons were cruel, unyielding, and ancient. This was the domain of the Stone, a place that was less a location on any map and...
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