The Golden Echoes
The road was a ribbon of wet slate, unspooling into the gray morning. You walked with your pack heavy on your back, the leather straps cutting into shoulders that had forgotten how to rest. The rain had stopped, but the air remained thick, tasting of iron and damp earth. You were not a man who liked to walk. You were a man who had commanded men, who had given orders that kept the peace, who had...
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