The Distant Temple
The ink was already bleeding into the grain of the parchment, a dark, wet stain that spread with the slow, inevitable patience of a tide reclaiming a drowned shore, and it was only then that Elias Thorne realized the cost of his cleverness, a cost paid not in gold or land but in the very substance of his soul which he had spent like small change in the marketplace of the town of Oakhaven, a...
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