The Faded River
The clay cup shattered against the wet cobblestones of the bridge, the sound a sharp, brittle crack that echoed louder than the thunder rolling through the valley below, and I stood there, my hand still raised from the force of the blow, watching the shards scatter into the dark water like the broken teeth of a god who had finally lost his patience with the prayers of men. I am Elias Thorne, a...
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