The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-24 01:45:06 -

The fog was coming in off the moor, and it smelled of wet ash and old copper. Elias stood at the parapet, his hand resting on the cold iron of the gatehouse door, watching the grey wall roll over the stone markers that defined the northern edge of the reserve. He had twenty-two years of service in his ledger, a number that should have bought him a quiet retirement in the village below, but the...

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