The Distant Temple
The stone groaned. It was a low, tectonic sound, deep in the bedrock of the Royal Palace’s new north wing, a sound that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth before he heard it with his ears. He stood on the scaffolding, his chisel resting against the limestone, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, blinding ambition to carve the central spire himself. Below him, the courtyard was...
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