The Wistful Skyline
The dream did not begin with a waking, but with the weight of stone pressing against Elias Thorne’s eyelids, a texture so familiar it bypassed the conscious mind and settled directly into the marrow. He was standing in the shadow of the Great Hall, the roofless cathedral that had once housed the court of King Aldric, now reduced to a skeletal grid of moss-eaten limestone and the silent, judging...
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