The Golden Compass

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2026-08-17 23:06:16 -

The hall smelled of roasted boar and damp wool. The air was thick, stagnant, heavy with the breath of two hundred men. William stood near the back, pressed against the cold stone wall. He was twelve. He wore a tunic that had been mended too many times, the fabric thin as paper at the elbows. In his left hand, he held a small object. It was a compass. Not for the sea. For the soul. Or so the old...

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