The Wistful Cipher

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2026-08-21 15:41:11 -

The air in the garrison at Oakhaven tasted of rust and old rain. It was a damp, clinging thing that seeped into the joints, a physical weight that mirrored the slow, creeping erosion of my own body. I was forty-two, but my knees moved with the stiff, grinding reluctance of a man twice that age. The years had not merely passed; they had extracted a toll, leaving me hollowed out, a vessel waiting...

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