The Wistful Mountain
The mist in the valley of Oakhaven did not merely obscure the view; it swallowed the world, leaving only the jagged spine of the mountain visible above the grey churn. Elias, twelve years old and hollowed out by hunger, climbed the path with the mechanical precision of a scribe’s apprentice, his fingers stained with iron-gall ink and his mind a chaotic ledger of calculations. He sought the...
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