The Faded Shield
The desert floor was a sheet of hammered tin under the first bruised light of dawn, and Elias Thorne stood alone in the center of it, his boots sinking into the pale dust that clung to his trousers like dried blood. He clutched a leather-bound journal to his chest, the cover cracked and soft from years of handling, the spine worn smooth by the friction of his palms as he walked the perimeter of...
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