The Distant Temple
The first bell rang not from the tower of St. Jude’s, but from the marrow of Elias Thorne’s own spine, a discordant, metallic shriek that shattered the silence of the highland moor where the fog lay thick as wet wool, and in that instant of auditory violence the world peeled away to reveal not the church he had sworn to protect, but the hollow, echoing architecture of his own decay. He stood...
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