The Golden Harbor
The dream was always the same: a suffocating descent into black, stagnant water, the weight of the uniform dragging Elias Thorne down toward a silence that felt less like peace and more like burial. He woke in the small hours of the morning in his barrack room, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, the sheets twisted around his legs like the vines of some predatory plant. The room was cold,...
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