The Golden Circuit

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2026-08-18 15:33:24 -

The letter lay on the mahogany desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry, heated air of the antechamber. It was not a letter of state, nor a decree of war, but a small, folded piece of parchment that held the weight of a life. Sir Thomas Alaric, the High Steward, did not look at it immediately. He looked instead at the window, where the late autumn light was failing, turning the ivy on the...

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