The Faded Ruin
The dream arrived not as a vision but as a weight, a cold iron anchor dragging through the silt of the mind. Elias Vane woke to the sound of his own breathing, which seemed too loud, too deliberate, in the silence of the stone dormitory. Outside the barred window, the morning mist clung to the grey expanse of the Proctor’s Field, a vast, fog-drowned wilderness that separated the inner sanctum...
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