The Golden Oath
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s tolled not for the hour, but for the end of a day. It was a low, heavy sound, like a stone dropping into a deep well. Elias Vance stood on the porch of the keep, watching the fog roll in from the river. It swallowed the village whole. It swallowed the fields. It swallowed the memory of his father’s face. In his hand, he held a small clay bowl. It was chipped...
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