The Wistful Atlas
The departure was not marked by a tearful embrace, but by the heavy, metallic clatter of a steel trunk being latched shut in the narrow corridor of the outpost. Elias Thorne, a man whose face had been weathered into a map of rigid lines by years of service in the border watch, stood with his hands resting on the cold iron, watching his companion, Silas Vane, fade into the mist that clung to the...
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