The Wistful Campus
The dream began not with light but with the sensation of weight, a dense and suffocating gravity that pulled at the joints of Elias Thorne’s knees, which had grown soft and indistinct in the dark, like wet clay left too long in the rain. He was standing in the atrium of the university, a vast and sterile expanse of glass and polished marble that reflected his own fractured image back at him, a...
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