The Wistful Skyline
The dream had no walls, only a ceiling of indigo so deep it felt like drowning in velvet. In this suspended void, Elias Thorne floated, his body light as ash, his mind sharp as a flint blade. He was the High Arbiter of the Aetherial Court, a realm where the laws of physics bowed to the laws of memory. Here, justice was not blind; it was omniscient, a gaze that pierced the soul and weighed the...
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