The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-21 15:18:23 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a gray, wet veil that smelled of rot and iron. Thomas sat on the cold stone of the courtyard wall, his boots black with mud, his hands resting on his knees. He was waiting. He had been waiting for three days, though in this place, time moved like thick syrup, sticky and indifferent. The walls of the citadel were high, carved from a pale stone...

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