The Distant Summer
The iron spear shatters against the rim of the world, sending a spray of molten starlight and jagged shards of obsidian raining down into the void where the floor should be, and you stand there, breathing in air that tastes of copper and ancient dust, watching the debris drift downward into an abyss that does not end but seems to curl back upon itself like a dying fern. This is the third time...
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