The Distant Threshold
The rain lashed against the stained glass of the Abbey library, a rhythmic drumming that matched the frantic beating of Elias’s heart. He stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the scent of damp wool and old paper, holding the silver astrolabe in his trembling hands. It was warm. That was the first wrong thing. It should have been cold, dead metal resting in its velvet case for three...
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