The Golden Master
The road out of the valley was not a path but a scar, a jagged line of gray stone cutting through the ancient, moss-draped pines. It climbed steeply into the mist, a route known only to those who sought the High Monastery, a place where the air was thin and the silence heavy enough to crush a man’s bones. Elias walked with a limp, his left leg dragging slightly against the gravel, a remnant of...
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