The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-19 05:13:29 -

In the dream, the rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a suspended curtain of silver needles that never touched the ground. It was a cold, dry cold, the kind that settles into the marrow and refuses to leave, and Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the keep, the stone beneath his boots humming with a low, tectonic vibration. He was a man of the Order of the Iron Gate, a sentinel whose duty...

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