The Distant Promise
The fog does not roll in; it is injected, a sterile, white gas pumped through the veins of the valley until the world is reduced to a flat, featureless void of absolute zero. You stand in the center of the rotunda, your fingers slick with the cold sweat of a man who has been staring into the abyss for too long, and you watch the boundary dissolve. It is not a wall, not a gate, but a membrane, a...
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