The Distant Legend
The dream was not of darkness, but of static. A grey, humming void where the air tasted of copper and burnt ozone. In this space, Elias Thorne stood before a structure that defied Euclidean geometry. It was a cathedral of iron and glass, its spires twisting into the ether like broken radio antennas, pulsing with a faint, arterial red light. This was the Obsidian Spire, a relic from the...
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