The Distant Nightmare

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2026-08-22 16:27:36 -

The fog in Oakhaven did not merely settle; it seeped, a cold, gray moisture that tasted of copper and old pennies, clinging to the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat as he stood before the High Inquisitor’s oak-paneled door. Elias was thirty-four, an age where the hands of an apothecary should be steady, but his trembled, the fine vibration a physical manifestation of the terror that had replaced his...

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