The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-18 07:57:42 -

The dream began with the sound of iron grinding on stone. It was a low, grinding shriek that vibrated in the marrow of Silas’s bones. He stood at the edge of the ridge, the wind pulling at his heavy wool coat. Below him, the valley of Oakhaven lay still under a grey mist that smelled of damp earth and old decay. He was not a dreamer by nature. A soldier does not have time for dreams. But the...

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