The Wistful Skyline
The stone of Oakhaven Keep did not merely hold the cold; it exhaled it, a damp, mineral breath that seeped through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and settled in the marrow of his forty-year-old bones. He sat on the edge of the stone slab in the lower cell, his back against the wall, watching the vial of moon-ash in his hand tremble with a vibration that had no source in the room. Outside,...
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