The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-23 03:30:05 -

The silver spoon in your hand is cold, heavier than the gold-rimmed goblet beside it, and its bowl holds a reflection of the candlelight that seems to tremble with a vibration you can feel in your teeth. You are Elias, a scribe of thirty years, standing in the great hall of Lord Malacor’s fortress, the air thick with the smell of roasted boar and the wet, metallic tang of blood from the...

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