The Wistful Voyage
The snow had not stopped for three days. It fell in a relentless, gray curtain, erasing the horizon and blurring the line between the earth and the sky. Major Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the cliff, his boots sinking into the slush. He watched the sea below. It was a churning mass of charcoal and white foam, indifferent to the world above. In his hand, he held a ceramic jar. It was blue....
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