The Wistful Atlas
The rain did not fall so much as it was driven against the single, narrow window of the barracks, a relentless, grey sheet that blurred the world outside into a smear of mud and stone. Captain Elias Thorne sat on the edge of his straw pallet, his hands resting on his knees, and watched them tremble. The shaking was a fine, high-frequency vibration that started in the tips of his fingers and...
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