The Distant Temple
The auctioneer’s voice, a dry rattle of parchment and dust, cuts through the humid air of the Ministry of Heritage’s main hall, a place where the shadows of kings and the ghosts of forgotten treaties seem to press against the velvet drapes, while you, holding the small, battered leather-bound journal in your trembling hands, feel the weight of it not as mere paper and ink but as a living,...
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