The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 09:13:41 -

The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it stood still, a thick, damp wool that smelled of rotting oak and wet stone. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood before the town hall, his hand resting on the hilt of his service pistol, though he had not drawn it in three days. He was thirty-four years old, a man whose life had been measured in marches and duties, but today the ground felt unsteady beneath his...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews