The Distant Summer
The air tasted of copper and ozone. Caleb gripped the hilt. The metal was warm. It pulsed. Like a heart. Across the void, the figure stood. Tall. Silent. Armor made of shifting glass. "You came," the figure said. The voice was wind. Dry. Scraping. "I did," Caleb replied. His throat was dry. He swallowed. The taste of rust. The space around them was not empty. It was full. Of light. Blinding....
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