The Distant Threshold
The gate was not merely a barrier of iron and stone; it was a threshold that had been worn smooth by centuries of feet, both living and dead, crossing from one state of being to another. It stood at the edge of the town of Oakhaven, a place where the mist clung to the cobblestones like a damp shroud, and where the air smelled perpetually of wet earth and old paper. Elias Thorne stood before it,...
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