The Wistful Saga
The rain fell on the city not as water, but as a fine, persistent gray dust that settled into the crevices of the stone and the hollows of the soul. Elias Thorne walked with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man who had long since ceased to see the street as a path and began to view it as a battlefield, every shadow a potential ambush, every whisper a coded order. He was a sergeant in the...
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