The Faded Quadrant
The fog rolled in thick. It tasted of iron. Old Elias stood at the gate. He watched the mist. It swallowed the world. His hands were rough. His back was bent. He had been here a long time. The stone walls were cold. The air was heavy. He felt the weight of years. They pressed on his chest. He breathed shallow. He breathed slow. The fog did not lift. It never lifted. Elias was not from here. He...
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