The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-20 14:19:35 -

The Wistful Saga

The train did not have a name, nor did the landscape outside the window have a horizon. It was a grey, churning void, a soup of fog and iron dust that swallowed the world whole. Elias Vane sat by the window, his knuckles white as he gripped the brass rail. In his lap, wrapped in a silk handkerchief that had once belonged to his wife, lay the object. It was a small, ceramic bird, its glaze...

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