The Golden Harbor
The brass buttons of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s uniform were not merely fasteners but anchors, heavy and cold as coins dropped into a deep well, each one holding the fabric of his identity taut against the relentless, eroding tide of time. For thirty years, the wool of his tunic had been the only constant in a life that had otherwise dissolved into a blur of grey skies and damp stone, and now, as...
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