The Distant Temple
The loom stood in the center of the workshop like a wooden gallows, its warp threads taut and pale against the gloom of the year 1342. Elias Thorne, a master weaver whose hands were mapped with the scars of forty years’ labor, stared at the unfinished white wool with a dread that felt less like fear and more like a physical weight pressing on his chest. He had been commissioned to weave the...
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