The Distant Temple
The bell does not ring; it sighs. You stand before the archway of the White Citadel, a structure of such pale, terrifying perfection that it seems less built than grown from the bone of the earth itself. The air here is thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and crushed lilies, a perfume that clings to the tongue like ash. You are not here by choice, or perhaps you are, for in this place the...
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