The Distant Temple
The sky above Harrow’s End did not turn dark; it turned red. It was a visceral, arterial crimson that bled through the clouds, swallowing the sun before it had even thought to set. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood on the ridge overlooking the valley, his hand resting on the grip of his sidearm, feeling the cold metal seep into his palm like a second pulse. The air tasted of ozone and burnt copper, a...
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