The Faded Chronicle
The whistle blew, a sharp, metallic shriek that cut through the grey November air and made Elias Thorne flinch, his knee locking in a sudden, violent spasm that drove him to one knee in the mud of the decommissioned training ground. He was forty-two years old, and the cold did not just sit on his skin; it burrowed into the marrow of his bones, a physical assault that felt less like weather and...
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