The Wistful Saga
The iron door did not creak, nor did it groan under the weight of the years, but it held a silence so absolute and heavy that it felt less like a barrier and more like a lung holding its breath, a vast, cold, metallic pause before the inevitable exhale of time itself, and in that pause, Elias Thorne stood with his back against the cold steel, his fingers tracing the rusted seam where the lock...
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