The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-20 18:59:43 -

The morning air tasted of damp stone and stale beer. In the courtyard of the Blackwater Garrison, the mist clung to the cobblestones like a shroud, softening the sharp edges of the world. Thomas Bradshaw stood by the wooden gate, his hands gripping the rough grain of the oak until his knuckles turned white. He was not a large man, but he carried himself with the dense, quiet weight of a boulder...

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