The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-22 04:25:52 -

The rain did not fall. It hovered. A fine, gray mist clung to the air of the Grey Ward, smelling of wet stone and old iron. I stood alone in the corridor. My boots were soaked. They were heavy with the mud of the Outer Gate. I am a Warden of the Threshold. That is my title. It sounds grand. It is not. It is a job. A cold, wet job. We keep the peace between the living and the dead. We keep the...

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