The Pale Door
The chisel bit into the limestone with a sound like a bone snapping. Elias Thorne wiped the gray dust from his brow and leaned in, his breath misting in the biting air of the King’s Chapel. It was the final lintel, the last piece of the arch that would seal the sanctum before the first hard frost set in. If he missed the deadline, the Guild Charter would be revoked, and twenty years of labor...
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