The Wistful Ashes
The fog did not merely settle upon the valley of Oakhaven; it consumed it, a thick, gray wool that smothered the breath of the living and the dead alike, transforming the ancient cobblestones into slick mirrors of a sky that no longer existed. You stood at the threshold of the Archive, your fingers tracing the grain of the oak door, feeling the cold seep into your knuckles, a sensation that...
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