The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-23 10:26:26 -

The dream was not a dream, but a waking, a slow and terrible surfacing from the depths of the silver mist that clings to the riverbanks of Oakhaven, where the air itself seems to possess a viscous, living weight that presses against your skin like wet wool. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, a miller whose hands are perpetually stained with the grey dust of grain and the darker stain of...

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