The Golden Suspect

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2026-08-18 09:48:38 -

The sword did not sing, but it hummed, a low and mournful vibration that traveled up the iron hilt and settled deep in the marrow of Sir Alaric’s wrist. He stood in the center of the Obsidian Hall, the air thick with the scent of crushed violets and old blood. Before him loomed Lord Vane, a figure carved from malice and silk, his smile a thin, white scar across a face that had forgotten the...

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