The Distant Clue
The dream is always the same, a tearing sound like wet canvas ripping down the center, and you wake with the taste of iron on your tongue, the loom’s rhythm still trapped in your muscle memory even though your hands are resting on the cold stone floor of your chambers. You are Elias Thorne, master weaver to King Aldric, and you are forty-two years old, but in the gray light of the dawn, you...
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