The Distant Summer
The rain did not fall; it suspended itself in the air, a fine, cold mist that clung to the skin of the world like a second, suffocating layer. Inside the stone watchtower of Blackwood Keep, the silence was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums. Elias Thorne sat in the center of the circular room, his back against the rough-hewn wall, his rifle resting across...
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