The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 04:14:18 -

You wake not to the sound of a whistle or the crack of a branch but to the smell of wet iron and crushed violets, a scent so thick it coats the back of your throat and tastes like blood before it tastes like flower, and you are standing in a field that has no horizon, only a grey mist that swallows the world at the edge of your vision, and you are wearing the uniform of the King’s Guard, the...

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