The Golden Mirror
The gate swung open with a groan of iron against stone. Captain Elias Thorne stepped into the courtyard of St. Jude’s Abbey. The air was cold. It smelled of wet moss and old blood. He held his sword at his side. The blade was dull. It had seen too many winters. "Did you see him?" asked Brother Anselm. The monk stood in the shadows of the archway. His face was a map of wrinkles. His eyes were...
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