The Wistful Mountain
The fog does not lift in Kael. It settles into the marrow, a damp, grey weight that presses against the skin until you forget the sun ever existed. You are Elias, thirty-two, a border guard whose uniform has long since lost its color, bleached by the constant, suffocating mist. Your sister Mara sits in the detention camp at the valley’s edge, her file stamped with the red ink of treason. You...
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