The Distant Temple
The chisel struck the granite, and the sound was wrong. It did not ring with the clean, high pitch of stone meeting steel; it thudded, a dull, wet impact, like a hammer hitting a ripe melon. Elara Vane pulled her hand back, wiping the sweat from her brow with a forearm that was already stained with grey dust. The aqueduct lay before her, a skeletal ribcage of half-finished arches stretching...
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