The Golden Echoes
The road to the estate was not a path so much as a scar, a jagged wound in the earth that bled mud and memory under the relentless, gray sky. Thomas Bradshaw walked it with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man carrying a stone in his chest, a stone that had grown heavier with every mile he had traveled away from the fires of the old world and into this damp, indifferent new one. He was a...
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