The Distant Temple
The air in the atrium tasted of ozone and old paper. You stood before the central column, your hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, terrifying weight of the thing you had carried up the stairs. It was a box. No, not a box. A reliquary. A vessel for something that had no name, something that hummed at a frequency only you could hear. The building was a cathedral of glass and steel,...
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