The Distant Legend
The rain in Manchester did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the soot-blackened brick of the city into a canvas of wet, dark reflections that trembled under the gaslight. Elias Thorne walked with a heavy, rhythmic gait, his boots striking the cobblestones in a steady cadence that seemed to count down the seconds until the end of the world, or perhaps just the end...
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