The Distant Threshold
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the stone abbey where Elias Thorne had spent the last thirty years of his life, a ghost in a body that still remembered the taste of salt and the weight of a hammer. He stood in the center of the Great Hall, the floor cold and unyielding beneath his thin shoes, staring at the long table that...
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