The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-22 07:29:21 -

The stone of the watchtower was cold against Elias’s back, a chill that seeped through his wool tunic and settled in his bones. He had been standing there for six hours, eyes fixed on the gate below, where the morning mist clung to the cobblestones like a ghost. He wanted to keep his post. It was a simple, stubborn desire, born of grief and duty. His father, Thomas, had died three days ago, and...

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