The Golden Maze
The mist in the Weeping Fen did not rise; it breathed. Elias Thorne stood knee-deep in the black water, the cold biting through his trousers and settling into his bones. He gripped his dog tags until the metal cut into his palm, the only solid thing in a world that was slowly dissolving. The Command had said he abandoned his platoon. They had said he ran. But Elias knew the truth, or what he...
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