The Distant Clue
The dream was not a dream of flight, nor of falling, but of walking through a field of glass, each step fracturing the light into a thousand cold, sharp shards that did not cut the skin but seared the memory, a sensation that lingered in the mind of Elias Thorne even as he stirred in the damp, straw-strewn bed of the roadside inn, the air thick with the smell of woodsmoke and unwashed bodies,...
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