The Wistful Throne
The fog on the dock at Blackwater Bay was not merely weather; it was a physical weight, a gray shroud that clung to the wet cobblestones and seeped into the bones of every man who worked the port. Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old and already carrying the heavy, rusted weight of twenty years’ service on his shoulders, stood before the *Aethelgard*, a hulking steam freighter that loomed against...
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