The Distant Temple
The rain against the windowpane of the Ministry office was a steady, rhythmic drumming that did little to soothe the hollow ache in Elias Thorne’s chest, a sensation that had become as familiar and unwelcome as the smell of wet wool and old paper. He sat at his desk, the mahogany surface scarred by decades of ink and coffee rings, staring at the file marked "Temple of Aethelgard: Preliminary...
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