The Distant Threshold

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 14:00:39 -

The rain fell like a curse. It did not stop. It soaked into the stone, into the wool, into the bones. I stood at the gate. The iron was cold. It bit my fingers. I did not pull away. I waited. "Is he there?" I asked. The guard looked at me. His face was a mask. Mud and blood and fear. He held his spear. The wood was wet. "Who seeks the Warden?" he said. "Thomas Vane." The name hung in the air....

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