The Faded Frontier
The stone was cold, a slab of grey slate that seemed to have been dragged from the bottom of a frozen lake, and it held the weight of the entire world in its center. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands trembling not from age, but from the sheer, crushing gravity of the moment. He was a man of seventy winters, his face a map of deep fissures, his eyes the pale, washed-out blue of a winter...
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