The Golden Crossing
The rain on the cobblestones of the old garrison town did not wash things clean; it merely deepened the color of the grime, turning the gray slate into a bruised purple that seemed to pulse with a slow, arterial rhythm. Captain Elias Thorne stood by the window of his study, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not seen battle in three decades, watching the mist roll in from the...
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