The Wistful Saga
The train hissed to a halt, a long, shuddering exhale that seemed to drain the last of the autumn warmth from the air. Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform. The wood was slick with mist. He looked back once, at the receding tail of the locomotive, then turned his face to the station master, a man whose name was not spoken but whose authority was absolute. The station master nodded. It was a...
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