The Distant Nightmare
The iron gate of the Keep did not creak so much as it sighed, a low, resonant moan that vibrated through the cobblestones and up into the bones of the man who stood before it, a sound that seemed to have no source in the physical world but rather originated in the deep, stagnant waters of memory. Elias Thorne, a man whose face had been carved by the same winds that had stripped the leaves from...
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