The Wistful Crossroads
The storm broke the seal of the crypt before dawn. It was not a natural wind, but a pressure so immense it felt like the weight of centuries pressing against the glass of the world, shattering the quiet of the ancestral estate. Captain Elias Thorne stood in the center of the library, his hand steady on the hilt of a sword that had seen no blood in two hundred years. He was old. Not in the way...
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