The Distant Threshold
The candle guttered, casting long, jagged shadows against the stone walls of the cottage. Elias Thorne held the vellum map with hands that trembled not from the cold, but from the desperate, hollow ache in his chest. It was a map of the highlands, old and brittle, marked with a symbol that seemed to shift in the flickering light, a subtle supernatural hint that Elias dismissed as ink bleed,...
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