The Golden Song
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the infirmary, a steady, rhythmic pulse that matched the slow decay of the city below. Silas stood by the window, his back to the room. He was a tall man, though the years had bent his spine into a question mark. His hands were stained dark with iodine and charcoal, the marks of a healer who had tried to scrub the...
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