The Distant Blade
The wind did not blow in the Hall of Echoes; it simply existed, a cold, invisible weight that pressed against the skin of every soul who dared to enter. It was a place suspended between the tick and the tock of a clock that no longer had a face, a vast, cathedral-like expanse where the floor was paved with the polished bones of old certainties and the ceiling was a churning nebula of forgotten...
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