The Wistful Atlas
The mist did not merely obscure the valley of Ostriv; it defined it, a thick, breathing membrane of white fog that swallowed the jagged teeth of the limestone cliffs and reduced the ancient, moss-eaten path to a faint, pulsing scar in the earth. Kaelen walked with the heavy, rhythmic cadence of a man who had spent his life measuring distance in the length of his stride, his boots striking the...
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