The Wistful Voyage
The tower stood not merely as a structure of stone and mortar, but as the calcified spine of a god who had forgotten how to breathe, its windows like hollow eye sockets staring blindly into the perpetual twilight of the valley where Elias Thorne had spent the last forty years of his life in silent, grinding exile. He was a man whose very existence had become a footnote in the history of the...
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