The Distant Temple
The iron band snaps with a sound like a dry twig breaking in a winter forest, leaving a raw, weeping burn on your left index finger that pulses in time with the strange, localized heat rising from the stone idol of the Temple of Aethel. You are Silas Vane, forty-two, a senior auditor for the Imperial Bureau of Relics, and in three months you will be mandatory retirement, a date that currently...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews