The Golden Oath
The house in the hills held its breath, a heavy silence that pressed against the windowpanes like a damp hand. You sat in the study, the room thick with the smell of old paper and the faint, metallic tang of ozone that seemed to cling to the air whenever the storm rolled in from the coast. On the desk before you lay the artifact, a small, unassuming object that looked nothing like the weapon of...
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