The Distant Nightmare

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2026-08-20 17:50:26 -

The road was a ribbon of gray slate, worn smooth by centuries of cartwheels and hooves, leading down into the valley where the mist never quite lifted. You walked with a heavy pack on your back, the straps biting into shoulders that had forgotten how to bear weight without pain. In your pocket, wrapped in oilcloth that smelled of damp wool and old sweat, you carried the Mark. It was not a coin,...

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