The Faded River

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2026-08-22 06:23:19 -

The Faded River

The mist did not lift from Oakhaven so much as it thickened, a grey wool that smelled of rotting silt and old iron, wrapping the village in a suffocating embrace that seemed to press against the very glass of the apothecary windows. Elias Thorne stood before his distillation apparatus, the copper coils gleaming with a sickly, oily sheen, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the...

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