The Golden Oath
The iron gates of the Foundry District did not so much open as they shuddered, a low, resonant groan that traveled up the cobblestones and into the soles of Eamon’s boots, a vibration that felt less like a sound and more like a memory of a fracture long since healed. He stood in the center of the courtyard, the air thick with the metallic taste of ozone and the damp, rotting scent of wet ash,...
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