The Distant Journey
The stone of the keep does not sleep, and neither do I, for the walls are not merely mortar and mortar but the very flesh of my duty, a living architecture that breathes in the thin, cold air of the northern highlands and exhales the scent of damp earth and ancient iron. I am Thomas Bradshaw, the last warden of this crumbling fortress, and I have spent forty years listening to the silence...
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