The Wistful Saga
The rain in the city of Oakhaven does not fall so much as it is forced down, a gray, relentless hammering against the slate roofs of the narrow streets where the shadows run deep and the air tastes of wet iron and old stone. You are running, your lungs burning with a cold fire, the cobblestones slick and treacherous under the heavy boots that have served you for thirty years. You are the...
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