The Wistful Mountain
The morning light did not break over the ridge so much as it seeped through the high altitude haze, a slow, viscous yellowing of the air that clung to the stone walls of the fortress with a tenacity that felt less like illumination and more like a physical weight pressing against the glass, a sensory pressure that Captain Elias Thorne had come to associate with the slow, grinding erosion of his...
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