The Faded River
The air in the library smelled of dust and decaying paper, a scent that had long ago become indistinguishable from the smell of silence. Elias Thorne sat in the corner, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, his fingers trembling slightly as he held the small, cracked ceramic jar. It was an unremarkable object, a relic from a dig site in the Appalachian foothills, yet it contained the...
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