The Distant Summer

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2026-08-21 20:35:08 -

The rain hits the slate roof like a fist. You are awake before the bell. You are always awake. The dream is still wet on your tongue, thick with the taste of iron and old blood. In the dream, the river was not water. It was a vein. It pulsed. It breathed. And you were inside it. You rise. Your knees crack. They are stiff with the cold that seeps into the stone walls of the keep. You are a man...

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