The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 01:52:42 -

The dream came first, as it always does. It was not a dream of rest. It was a dream of the iron. I stood in a hall of black stone, the air thick with the smell of ozone and old blood. Before me stood the Warden. He was a man of little stature but immense weight, his armor fitted so tightly it seemed grown from his skin. He did not speak. He only watched. His eyes were voids. I reached for him....

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