The Pale Path
The dream began, as it always did, with the sound of tearing canvas, a high-pitched shriek that cut through the silence of the city like a blade through silk. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the vast, empty hall of the Municipal Archive, a place that had once held the records of the living and the dead, now a cavern of dust and forgotten paper. The air was thick, suspended in a gray haze...
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