The Distant Clue
The dream begins not with light but with the heavy, wet silence of a place that has forgotten the sun, a subterranean vault where the air tastes of iron and old dust, and you are standing before a mirror that is not glass but a sheet of polished obsidian, dark and deep as a midnight ocean, and in its reflection you do not see your own face but the face of your sister, Elara, who died ten years...
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