The Distant Journey

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2026-08-20 21:30:20 -

The iron weight of the mace was cold against my palm, a dead thing that I carried like a living limb. I stood alone in the center of the Hall of Whispers, the vaulted ceiling lost in shadow above, the only light a single shaft of moonlight cutting through the high, narrow window. It fell upon the flagstone floor, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stale air, and upon the object I...

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