The Distant Machine
The rain fell upon the ramparts of Oakhaven like a ceaseless, gray judgment, washing the mud from the stones and into the deep, black ditches below. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the center of the watchtower, his hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword, though the blade itself had not been drawn in three days. It was a strange, cold sort of silence that had settled over the garrison, a...
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