The Distant Journey
The stone was cold, but the hum was not. It vibrated in the marrow, a low-frequency thrum that Elias Thorne had felt in his teeth for twenty years. He pressed his palm against the fractured base of the Blackwood Citadel’s central spire, the limestone rough and pitted under his calloused fingers. The crack ran three inches deep, a jagged scar that pulsed with the same rhythm as his own...
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