The Distant Clue
The wind in the graveyard did not howl; it whispered. It slid between the headstones of St. Jude’s village, carrying the scent of wet earth and rot, and it spoke names. Captain Elias Thorne stood before the village elder, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his knuckles white. The year was 1348, and the air was thick with the smell of plague and fear. “Release him,” Elias said. His...
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