The Distant Temple

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2026-08-18 19:08:37 -

The frost bit hard at the windowpane of the royal conservatory. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dying lilies and wet earth. Silas stood before the glass, his hands clasped behind his back. His knuckles were white. He was a man of few words, a craftsman of silence. For forty years, he had tended the gardens of the Duke. He knew the language of roots. He knew the patience of stone....

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