The Wistful Mirror
The dream did not begin with light, but with the smell of wet wool and iron, a scent so distinct and heavy that it seemed to press against the inside of Elias’s skull like a physical weight. He was standing in a place that should not have existed, a vast, circular hall suspended in a void of pale, shifting mist. The floor was made of a dark, polished stone that reflected the sky above, but the...
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