The Wistful Crossroads
The mist in Oakhaven did not merely obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, grey wool that suffocated the cobblestones and the thatched roofs alike. Elias stood at the edge of the village square, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that felt too heavy for his thirty-year-old arm, the metal cold against his palm. He was there to find the Shattered Mirror, a relic spoken of only in the...
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