The Distant Journey
The iron gates of the Keep had not been opened in a hundred years, yet the rust that flaked from their hinges smelled of fresh rain. I stood before them, my hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that pressed against my eardrums. I was a man who had crossed three seas to find this place, a ruin that was not, as the legends claimed, a fortress of stone,...
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