The Faded Photograph

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2026-08-21 12:09:55 -

The road out of the valley was not a path, but a scar. It cut through the highlands where the mist sat heavy and wet, clinging to the ferns and the grey stone like a burial shroud. I walked with my pack tight against my back, the weight of it a familiar anchor. Beside me, Thomas walked with a limp that spoke of old battles and newer regrets. He was my sergeant, or had been, before the world...

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