The Golden Oath
The iron bar was cold against my chest, a slab of unyielding reality that pressed the air from my lungs. I was pinned not by a person, but by the architecture of my own mistake, the heavy steel of the prison door sealing us in the dark. Around me, the other men breathed with the ragged, wet sound of those who have forgotten how to hope. I am Arthur Thorne, and in this moment, I am nothing but a...
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