The Distant Temple
You have the file, haven’t you, Thomas? The voice came from the shadows of the scriptorium, low and rough like gravel shifting under a boot. Thomas did not look up from the parchment. He kept his eyes on the ink, watching it bead and settle into the vellum, a dark, silent thing. The air in the room was thick with the smell of oak gall and old dust, a scent that had long since seeped into the...
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