The Distant Whispers
The ice breaks under your boots. You are holding the line. The wind is a physical thing here, a white wall that pushes against your chest plate, testing the seals, finding the gaps. You are a Sentinel. Your duty is to hold the Threshold. Beyond the gate, the old world sleeps. Beyond the gate, the things that do not wake. You are the lock. You are the key. You are the silence between the breaths...
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