The Golden Echoes
The iron cell smelled of damp stone and old blood. Kaelen sat on the cold floor, his hands bound with chains that had been forged specifically to break a man’s will, not just his wrists. He was a Warden of the High Court, a title that had once meant order, now it meant executioner. The silence in the dungeon was not empty; it was heavy, pressing against his eardrums like deep water. He could...
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