The Distant Joke
The dream was always the same. A field of iron. Miles of it, stretching to a horizon that did not exist. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and wet rust. Elias stood at the edge of this infinite expanse. He was young. His hands were bare. He reached out to touch a spike of metal. It was warm. It hummed against his fingertips like a living thing. He did not pull away. He let the cold seep...
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