The Golden Myth
The rain has been falling on the cobblestones of this ancient, walled city for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurs the edges of the world and turns the air into a thick, wet wool that presses against your lungs, and you are standing in the doorway of the guardhouse, your hand resting on the cold iron of your sword hilt, watching the back of the old man as he walks away, his...
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