The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-19 08:51:57 -

The dream was always the same. It began with the sound of iron on stone. Not a clink, but a grind. A slow, tearing friction that vibrated in the teeth. In the dream, Elias stood in a field of white ash. The sky above was the color of a bruised plum, swollen and heavy. He held a sword. It was not a weapon of war, not truly. It was a piece of his own arm, severed and reforged. The metal was warm....

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