The Golden Visit
The rain fell in steady, gray sheets against the high, arched windows of the keep, washing away the dust of centuries in slow, reluctant rivulets. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp stone and old iron, a smell that clung to the back of the throat and settled in the lungs. Commander Elias Thorne stood by the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the flames die down...
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