The Faded Road
The dream always began with the smell of wet ash and the low, guttural hum of the loom, a sound that vibrated in the marrow of my bones even before I opened my eyes, and I would find myself standing in the center of the great hall of the city of Aethelgard, a place that existed in the amber haze of my memory more than in the physical world, where the air was thick with the scent of ozone and...
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