The Distant Legend
The rain tapped against the glass like a patient hand. It was a steady, rhythmic knock. I sat in the corner booth of the diner. The coffee was cold. It tasted of burnt metal and old grounds. I stared at the surface. Ripples formed and died. The waitress, a young woman with tired eyes, placed a fresh cup down. She did not ask if I wanted more. She knew. We all knew. My name is Elias Thorne. I am...
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