The Golden Master
The stone breathes. You feel it in the soles of your feet, a slow, tidal rise and fall that syncs with the deep, rhythmic thrumming of the earth itself, as if the building is not a structure of mortar and lime but a single, vast, sleeping lung. You stand in the center of the nave, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword, the metal cold and unyielding against your palm. Around you, the light...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 3 Views 0 voorbeeld