The Distant Journey
"You are late." The voice did not come from the air, but from the stone floor itself, vibrating up through the soles of your boots, a low, grinding hum that felt less like sound and more like the earth remembering a wound it had suffered centuries ago. You did not look up. You kept your eyes fixed on the polished obsidian tiles of the throne room, on the way the light from the high, narrow...
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