The Distant Threshold
The water was black. Not dark, but black, like oil poured over a wound. I stood waist-deep in it, the cold biting through my wool trousers, the current tugging at my ankles like the hands of drowned men. Around me, the forest breathed. It was a thick, wet exhalation that smelled of rot and rain. My name was Elias Thorne. Or at least, that was the name the ledger said. The ledger was a heavy...
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