The Faded Dust
Elias. The word hangs in the air, sharp as a blade drawn across a whetstone. You hear it from the Captain’s mouth, low and heavy, cutting through the damp chill of the watchtower. It is a summons, a scolding, a brand. You are thirty-two. Your bones ache with the weight of the shift you have just endured, the hours spent staring into the fog that clings to the cobblestones of Aldenbury. You want...
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