The Faded Sutra
The old stone keep, perched on the jagged lip of the cliff where the wind screamed like a dying god, housed a silence so profound it seemed to have weight, pressing down on the shoulders of those who dared to linger in its shadow. It was here, in the drafty corridors where the torchlight flickered with an erratic, nervous pulse, that Sergeant Elias Thorne spent his final hours before the dawn...
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