The Distant Metropolis
The stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude did not merely stand; they breathed, a slow, tidal expansion and contraction that Elias Thorne had felt in his marrow since the day he was born beneath its vaulted ceiling. For forty years, he had served as the Keeper of the Threshold, a title that sounded more grand than it was, for his duty was singular and absolute: to maintain the seal that held the...
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