The Faded River
The mist that clings to the valley floor of the Ashenmere region is not merely moisture; it is a suspended memory, a grey, liquid breath that has been held for centuries, refusing to exhal into the crisp, biting air above. I walked through it, my feet finding the rhythm of the ancient stone path, a path worn smooth by the passage of those who had come before me, those who had carried the weight...
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