The Wistful Saga
The damp of the barracks settled into the wool of Elias Thorne’s cloak, a heavy, sodden weight that pressed against his ribs like a second, colder skin. He was thirty-two, a sergeant in the garrison of Lord Vane, and the only thing he possessed of value was this garment, the last relic of his brother, dead these ten years in a border skirmish that had never made the official ledgers. The cloak...
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