The Golden Visit
The dream began not with a whisper but with the heavy, suffocating weight of wet wool and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep directly into the marrow of Sir Alistair Thorne’s bones, a sensation so visceral and unyielding that it felt less like a vision of the past and more like a physical return to the damp, rotting earth of the frontier fort where he had spent the better part...
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