The Pale Meridian
The stone did not breathe, but it vibrated. It was a low, grinding hum that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth before he heard it with his ears, a frequency that had worn the mortar between the blocks of the rotunda down to a fine, grey powder over the last two centuries. He stood in the center of the circular chamber, his boots planted firmly on the cold flagstones, and waited for the Warden to...
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