The Distant Threshold
The carriage wheels groaned against the packed earth, a sound like the dry cracking of old bones, as Elara and her husband, Thomas, ascended the winding path toward the Obsidian Keep. The air up here was thin and tasted of iron and stale snow, a flavor that coated the back of Elara’s throat and settled in her lungs with a heavy, foreign weight. She clutched Thomas’s hand, his knuckles white...
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