The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-20 10:42:20 -

The gate is locked. You know it is locked because the iron is cold against your palm, and the lock is a heavy, rusted beast that has not moved in years. You are in the courtyard of the old abbey, the one they call the House of Silence. It stands in the heart of the city, a dark tooth jutting from the white stone streets. The air smells of wet stone and old paper. You are not supposed to be...

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