The Distant Nightmare
The iron cage is heavy. You hold it. Your arms burn. The wire is cold. It bites your palms. You are Captain Elias Thorne. You are in the Grand Hall. The air smells of dust and old oil. The ceiling is high. Painted with faded angels. They look down. They do not help. You have a war to end. Not a battle. A war. The kind that eats men. The kind that leaves holes in the ground. You are holding the...
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