The Distant Temple
The mud in the yard of Fort Sterling did not just soak; it consumed, pulling the leather of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s boots down into the earth with a suction that felt less like friction and more like a slow, wet burial. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the cold November air biting through the wool of his tunic, listening to the rhythmic, metallic clatter of the drill...
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