The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-22 08:33:21 -

The mist in Oakhaven did not lift so much as it condensed, a thick, grey wool that smelled of wet stone and old iron. Elias Thorne walked through it with the careful, rhythmic gait of a man whose left hand was no longer entirely his own. The obsidian shard, fused to his palm since the accident in the quarry three winters past, caught the faint light from the streetlamps, a black mirror that...

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