The Distant Temple
The banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb and stale wine, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of Elara’s throat. She sat at the far end of the long oak table, her fingers trembling as she tore a piece of bread. The hall was alive with the raucous laughter of the village elders, their voices booming off the stone walls, celebrating the end of a harvest that had barely covered the cost...
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