The Golden Scar
The road to the Spire of Aethelgard was not paved with stone, but with the compacted silence of those who had already turned back. Elara walked it alone, her boots sinking into a dust that felt less like earth and more like the ash of forgotten promises. She was a stranger in this land of grey mist and jagged peaks, a woman from the southern ports where the sun still had the audacity to shine,...
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