The Distant Temple
The decree came down on the morning of the winter solstice, stamped with the red wax of the Crown, and it landed on the scribe’s desk like a stone dropped into a still pond. You were Elias, thirty-two, a man whose hands were perpetually stained with the graphite of other people’s ledgers, and you knew the weight of the paper before you even opened it. The roof of the Temple of St. Jude, that...
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