The Distant Legend
The fog did not lift from the harbor of Blackwood, or from the cellar where Silas Vane sat bound to the iron chair with his own shackles, because the fog was not a weather event but a substance, a thick, gray mastic that had been leaking from the cracked foundation of the world for decades, seeping into the pores of the stone and the lungs of the men who guarded it, and Silas could feel it...
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