The Distant Temple
The mist clung to the valley floor like a shroud, damp and cold, seeping into the bones of those who walked the long, gravel paths of St. Jude’s Institute for the Preservation of Heritage. It was a place of stone and silence, a fortress of academic rigidity where the air smelled of old paper and decaying leaves. I moved through the corridors with the slow, deliberate pace of a man who has...
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