The Pale Path
Elias woke not with the sharp jolt of alarm or the intrusion of light, but with the slow, viscous dissolution of a dream that had begun to feel more solid than the waking world. He lay in a room that was not his, the walls breathing with a faint, rhythmic pulse, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and crushed lavender. In the dream, he had been walking a path of pale, compressed ash, a...
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