The Distant Temple
The clock on the wall ticked with the dry snap of a bone breaking, and I counted the seconds between the ticks to keep my hand steady. Forty-two years of service. That was the number that mattered. Fourteen thousand, six hundred days of grinding ink into the veins of Aethelgard, a city that floated on a sea of copper-colored mist and breathed in the lungs of its inhabitants. I needed my...
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