The Distant Crown
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a cold, grey curtain that smelled of wet stone and diesel. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the square, his boots sinking into the mud, his hands wrapped tightly around a rusted iron object that felt heavier than its size should allow. It was a crown, or rather, the skeletal remains of one, jagged and pitted, stolen that...
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