The Distant Temple
The frost bit deep. You wiped your nose with a rough sleeve. The village was dead. Or so it seemed. Smoke curled from no chimneys. The fields were grey scars. You walked. Your boots crunched on ice. You were a seeker. A finder. The village elder had sent you. He was old. His eyes were milky. He had coughed blood into a rag. "The stone," he had whispered. "It is broken. Go. Fix it. Or die." You...
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