The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 01:34:07 -

The gate was not wood. It was iron, cold and unyielding, stretching up into a sky that did not belong to any known hemisphere. I stood before it, my hands trembling, the cold biting through my gloves. The air tasted of ozone and old paper. I was not a soldier. I was not a judge. I was merely a boy, twelve years old, standing at the threshold of a place that demanded a purity I did not possess....

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