The Golden Oath

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-17 12:57:24 -

The Golden Oath

The fog rolled in from the river every morning at six. It tasted of iron and wet stone. I stood on the bank, my hands slick with the cold mud, watching the water churn against the concrete pilings of the old bridge. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a man made of rust and silence. I have been the Warden of the Gray Spire for thirty years. The Spire was not built by human hands, or so the men in the...

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