The Pale Mist
The dream was not of water, nor of fire, but of a mirror. It was a tall, narrow pane of glass standing in the center of a room with no walls, only a floor of polished obsidian that reflected the infinite dark above. In the glass, Major Elias Thorne saw himself, but not the man he had been for the last three decades of service. The figure in the reflection was younger, unlined, wearing a uniform...
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