The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-19 08:17:19 -

The morning mist clung to the heather like a shroud, heavy and damp against the skin of Elara’s face. She stood at the edge of the Thornwood, her fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of a staff that was not quite wood, but something older, something that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic warmth akin to a resting heartbeat. Beside her, her brother, Thomas, adjusted the strap of his pack, his eyes...

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