The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-21 20:22:56 -

The mist did not roll in; it solidified, a thick, grey wool that smelled of sulfur and old iron, pressing against the glass of the observation deck until the world outside ceased to be a place and became a texture. I sat in the captain’s chair, my hands resting on the armrests, the leather worn thin by decades of grip. My name is Elias Thorne, though for the last three years, inside the fog, I...

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