The Golden Harbor
The rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of the High City into slick mirrors of our own decay. I walked with the weight of the King’s Law in my left hand and the silence of my soul in my right, the iron of the halberd cold against my hip, a familiar anchor in a world that was slowly dissolving into mist. My name is Elias Thorne, and for...
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