The Distant Crown
The tin cup dented under his thumb. Elias watched the steam rise. It curled like a ghost. "Pour," said Marcus. Elias poured. The liquid was black. It smelled of burnt earth. They sat in the dugout. The walls were damp. The air was thick. It tasted of sulfur and sweat. Elias was a clerk. That was his trade. He handled numbers. He balanced ledgers. He did not handle lead. But the war had made him...
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