The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-19 22:21:35 -

The mist in the valley of Aethelgard did not roll in like fog; it rose, thick and gray as wool, from the black water of the lake, swallowing the world until only the stone walls of the watchtower remained. Inside, Elias sat on a bench that had been carved from a single piece of oak so long ago that the wood had turned to something harder, darker, and more brittle than bone. His hands rested on...

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