The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-21 20:36:01 -

The dream always began with the smell of wet wool and the distant, rhythmic clanking of looms, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Silas Thorne’s bones before it ever reached his ears. He stood in a corridor of polished obsidian, the air thick with the static charge of impending thunder, wearing a uniform that was not quite his own, the fabric shifting and rippling like liquid...

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