The Distant Temple
The dream always began with the sound of shattering, a high-pitched crack that seemed to originate not in the air but in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, and then the obsidian mirror would break, revealing not his face but the future ruin of the Temple, a skeletal structure of black stone against a sky the color of bruised flesh. He woke in the small hours of the morning, the cold of the...
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