The Distant Threshold

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:53:54 -

The fog rolled in off the harbor. It tasted of salt and rust. I stood on the wet cobblestones. My boots were soaked. The rain had stopped. The city held its breath. My name is Silas. I am a guard. I guard the gate. The gate is old. The stone is cold. My hand rests on the iron bar. The bar is slick. I do not let go. Behind me is the yard. The yard is empty. The trees are bare. The wind shakes...

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