The Golden Crossing

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 00:12:53 -

The mud was black and slick as oil. It sucked at my boots with a wet, rhythmic groan. Rain fell in sheets, cold enough to sting the exposed skin of my neck. I stood on the bridge. The planks were rotten. They shifted under my weight, groaning like old men in pain. Below, the river churned, brown and angry. I was not supposed to be here. The order was clear. Burn it. Save the town. That was the...

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