The Golden Crossing
The ink was drying on the parchment when Elias turned to leave, his hand trembling not from the cold that seeped through the wool of his coat, but from the weight of the signature he had just pressed into the wax. It was a simple mark, a looped initial, yet it felt like a brand seared into the skin of his soul. Outside, the fog of the river town of Millhaven curled around the cobblestones,...
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