The Golden Master
The seal was cracked. It hung on the door of the white stone tower. A circle of gold. The center was dark. A scratch. A thin line of black dust. Thomas stood before it. His hand was still. He was the Warden. He wore the grey tunic. The wool was rough. It smelled of rain and old sweat. His boots were heavy. They were caked with the red clay of the valley. He had walked for three days. The sky...
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