The Faded Root
The dream came to him not as a vision of light but as a sensation of weight, a heavy, cold leadenness that settled into the marrow of his bones. In the dream, he was standing in a field of ash, the sky above a bruised purple that offered no sun, only a dull, humming pressure that made his ears ring. He wore the armor of the old guard, the steel plates dull and pitted by years of wind and rain,...
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