The Faded Shield
The dream was not of water, nor of fire, but of a heavy, rusted gear turning slowly in a void of absolute silence. Elias Vane woke with the taste of iron in his mouth, the metallic tang of old blood and machine oil. He lay still in the narrow bed of his apartment in the Sector 4 housing block, listening to the hum of the ventilation shafts. It was a low, constant thrum, the heartbeat of the...
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