The dream came not in pictures, but in the weight of iron. It was a heavy, cold thing, pressed against the center of Cael’s chest, a slab of rusted plate that did not belong to any armor he had ever seen, yet felt more intimate than his own skin. He dreamed of the town of Oakhaven, not as the bustling market square of his waking life, but as a skeleton of gray stone and fog, where the air...
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