The Distant Crown
The mud in the trench did not merely coat Elias Thorne; it consumed him, a cold, heavy slurry that turned every movement into a labor of survival against the earth itself. He was thirty-four, a linguist by trade who had once cataloged the declensions of dead languages in a quiet library in Cambridge, but now he was a corporal in the Fourth Infantry, his uniform torn and stiff with dried blood,...
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