The Distant Blade
The dream began not with a sound, but with a texture, the rough, fibrous grit of sandpaper dragging across the back of Elias Thorne’s hand as he stood in a field that was not a field but a vast, empty warehouse floor, the concrete stretching out into a grey infinity under a sky made of corrugated steel. In the dream, he was holding a blade, not a sword, but a long, slender piece of broken...
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