The Distant Threshold
The iron key in my hand was cold, not with the chill of the winter night outside the watchtower, but with a specific, heavy cold that seemed to leech heat directly from my palm, a sensation that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the weight of the thing it unlocked. I stood alone on the ramparts of the Keep, the wind tearing at my cloak, and I looked down at the valley...
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