The Golden Quest
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a cold, persistent drumming against the high, narrow windows of the Keep. I stood before the mirror, the glass warped by age and soot, and watched the hands that had once gripped a sword with the strength of oak now tremble like dry leaves in a gale. I am Sir Julian of the House of Vane, though the title feels less like a birthright now and more...
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