The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 09:49:38 -

The Distant Wound

In the dream, the air tasted of copper and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s tongue and refused to wash away. He stood in the center of the circular atrium of the Ministry of Sustenance, a vast, sterile bowl of white marble and glass that seemed to breathe a cold, regulated chill into his lungs. Above him, the ceiling was not a ceiling but a living tapestry of...

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