The Faded Photograph
The orchard at the edge of the valley did not merely stand; it hovered, a suspended breath in the heavy, violet dusk that always descended upon the hamlet of Oakhaven with the punctuality of a clockwork mechanism, ticking away the seconds of a world that had forgotten how to exist without the shadow of the Iron Legions gathering on the distant ridgeline. Elias Thorne, a man whose mind was a...
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