The Distant Threshold
The tower stood in the middle of the grey, swirling mist. It was old. Older than the kingdom. Older than the names we gave to stars. It was built of black stone, seamless and cold. It did not belong to the world of men, but to the world of ghosts. Silas stood at the base. He wore the armor of the High Guard. The metal was dull. It had seen too much blood. Too much rain. He held a lantern. The...
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