The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-20 05:43:33 -

The rain did not fall. It was pressed down from the sky, a gray weight that crushed the heather in the moors. You stood in the mud. Your boots were heavy. The leather had stiffened. You were the last of the Order. The others were gone. Burned. Or broken. You held the staff. It was oak. Black. Smooth. It was cold in your hands. It was the only thing left. The storm roared. It sounded like a...

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