The Distant Temple
The iron seal had not broken, it had merely softened, and in that softening, the world of Aldous Thorne had begun to dissolve into a pale, humming static that tasted of ozone and old copper. He stood in the center of the training hall, a space that was no longer a hall but a shifting geometry of light and shadow, where the floorboards were made of compressed whispers and the walls were composed...
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