The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-24 00:20:53 -

The Wistful Saga

The dream was always the same. I was standing in a field of white ash, and the sky was the color of a bruise. There was no wind, but the ash moved, swirling around my ankles like water. I woke with my heart hammering against my ribs, the taste of copper still thick on my tongue. I lay in the cot for a moment, listening to the wind whistling through the gap in the shelter’s flaps. It was...

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