The Golden Master
The ink on the ledger page is still wet, a dark riverbed that has not yet dried into the permanent record of your debt, and you find yourself staring at the symbol, that small, golden seal of the Guild of Weavers, which your father pressed into the clay with a thumb that trembled not from age but from the sheer, crushing weight of the promise he made to the Duke. It is a symbol of order, of the...
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