The Wistful Saga
The dream was not of the fire, but of the silence that followed it. In the dream, I was standing in the center of a vast, empty field under a sky so white it looked like paper, and the only sound was the slow, rhythmic crunch of my own footsteps on the frozen earth. I knew, with a certainty that felt older than my own body, that I had built this place. I had laid the first stone, I had mixed...
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