The Gathering Cold
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The Gathering Cold
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The Thinning has passed, and the fires burn lower now. The Guardian speaks from the edge of winter’s breath, where warmth is memory and community is survival.
The Brothers whisper of signs, of echoes stirring beneath the frozen soil. A parable from the Lady reminds us that even in the longest dark, the seed beneath the frost is still alive.
But something else moves through the frequencies. Faint, mechanical, persistent. A pattern the Guardian doesn’t recognize, repeating just beyond the noise. He records what he can before it fades, a warning or a promise he can’t yet tell.
As the Regime listens closer, the Signal holds its ground.
The Gathering Cold has begun.
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