The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 22:37:32 -

The mist that clung to the valley of the Kells did not behave like weather; it behaved like a memory, heavy and wet, seeping into the pores of the wool cloak worn by Silas Thorne, a man whose hands were calloused not from the plow, but from the hilt of a longsword he had not drawn in seven years. He walked the ancient, rutted track that wound through the highlands, his boots sinking into mud...

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