The Wistful Grid
You are sure of it? The question hung in the damp air of the outpost, a simple inquiry that carried the weight of the entire valley. Captain Elias Thorne stood by the window, the glass cold against his fingertips. Outside, the wind scoured the stone walls, a relentless, grey scouring that seemed to strip the world down to its bare bones. He was forty-two years old, a man who had spent two...
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