The Pale Meridian
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a grey veil suspended between the stone floor and the high, vaulted ceiling. It smelled of wet wool and old iron. Elias stood by the window, his back to the room, watching the water bead on the glass. He was a large man, broad in the shoulders, but his posture had begun to curve, as if the weight of the air itself was pressing him down. His uniform,...
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