The Golden Song
The dream came not as a narrative but as a sensation, a heavy, viscous pressure against the eardrums, like the deep sea pressing its thumb against the glass of a porthole. Warden Elias Thorne woke in the high tower of the Obsidian Keep, the air thick with the scent of dried lavender and old iron, and he knew, with a certainty that bypassed logic and settled directly into the marrow of his...
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