The Wistful Mountain
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a sigh. It was a low, resonant exhalation that seemed to rise from the very foundation stones of the Grand Auditorium, a sound that the old masonry had swallowed and held for centuries before finally deciding to speak. Colonel Elias Thorne stood at the center of the vast, circular chamber, his posture rigid as a plumb line, his uniform immaculate...
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