The Distant Temple

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2026-08-23 12:46:49 -

The wind off the moor does not blow; it presses, a heavy, wet thumb against the glass of the outpost. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and your hands are steady, though the obsidian mirror in your left palm is cold enough to burn. You want only to secure the final seal on the gate before your shift ends, a task that has taken you three days and cost you the sleep of a man who has forgotten how...

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