The Distant Legend

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2026-08-23 12:48:06 -

Thorne. The name was not called so much as spat, a dry crack of gravel against the stone floor of the watchtower. I stood by the ledger, my hands still damp from the ink, and watched the frost creep across the page. It started at the margin, a thin white vein that spread with the slow, deliberate patience of a crack in ice. I wiped at it with my thumb, but the cold bit through the skin, leaving...

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