The Distant Cartograph
The morning fog lay heavy over the valley of Ockham, a thick, grey wool that muffled the clatter of hooves and the creak of the timber frames. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the royal terrace, his boots muddy, his uniform stiff with the cold that seeped from the stone floor into his bones. He was a man of few words and harder edges, his face a map of old scars and newer lines, etched...
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