The Golden Myth
The frost had crept up the glass of the observation deck, a delicate, crystalline lace that mirrored the fractured ice fields beyond the hull. Major Elias Thorne sat at his desk, the wood scarred by the habits of twenty years in service, his hands resting on a map of the Northern Reach. The air in the room was thin, recycled, and tasted of ozone and old sweat. Outside, the sky was a bruised...
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