The Distant Temple
The chisel slips, biting into the granite altar with a sound like a bone snapping under a boot. You freeze, your knuckles white and trembling, the iron handle slick with sweat and the thick, coppery smell of Mara’s blood. She is lying on the stone floor behind you, her face a mask of grey exhaustion, her breath rattling in a chest that feels too small for her body. The chapel is silent except...
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