The Golden Master
The mortar in your teeth is crumbling. You know this not by sight, but by the taste of iron and old dust that lingers on the tongue, a metallic ghost that refuses to be washed away. You sit in the high tower of the Abbey of St. Jude, the wind whistling through the gaps in the stone like a dying man’s breath. Below, the city of Kaelen spreads out in a patchwork of slate and shadow, a labyrinth...
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