The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 10:57:03 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a gray shroud that smelled of wet iron and old stone. Inside the manor, the silence was heavier than the weather. Sir Julian Vane sat by the hearth, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though the blade itself was sheathed. The metal was cold, but his palm was slick with sweat. He had been waiting for three hours. The candle on the...

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