The Distant Temple
The iron gate did not creak; it shrieked, a high-pitched metal scream that tore through the stagnant air of the valley like a siren from a drowned city. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated rejection. For three centuries, the Iron Ward had stood as the boundary between the known world and the Whispering Dark, a testament to human ingenuity in the face of the abyss. Now, it lay twisted in the...
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