The Golden Echoes
The kitchen was a cathedral of stone and shadow, where the only light came from the hearth, a dying ember of orange in the vast, cold dark. Elias Thorne stood before the great oak table, his hands resting on the grain, feeling the chill seep through the skin of his palms. He was a man built for the field, a commander of men, yet here he was, reduced to a prisoner of his own heritage, a sentinel...
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