The Distant Threshold
The fog did not roll into the fortress of Kael; it seeped, a slow, viscous tide that swallowed the lower ramparts before the sun had fully cleared the eastern ridge. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and you have spent the better part of a decade listening to the stone walls breathe, a low, rhythmic hum that vibrates in your molars and warns of death long before it arrives. You want...
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