The Distant Joke

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2026-08-20 12:37:36 -

The Distant Joke

The rain did not fall so much as it suspended, a fine, gray mist that clung to the stone walls of the citadel and soaked into the marrow of the men who guarded it. Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the great hall, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that felt less like metal and more like a fragment of bone, cold and brittle against his palm. He was a man of few words, a soldier of the...

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