The Distant Blade
The fog in Oakhaven did not simply obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, gray wool that strangled the gaslights and muffled the footfalls of the few souls who still ventured out after the mill whistle had blown for the last shift of the night. Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of his narrow house, his coat buttoned to the chin, his eyes fixed on the white nothingness that stretched...
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