The Golden Visit
The fog did not roll in; it rose, a thick, sulfurous curtain that swallowed the moor in minutes, erasing the horizon and leaving Elias Thorne standing at the precipice of the world, his forty-two-year-old body shivering not from the cold but from the sudden, visceral realization that the path he had walked for twenty years no longer existed. He clutched the tarnished brass compass in his left...
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