The Golden Ritual
The blade of the shield-saints, etched in runes of cold iron, bit deep into the flank of the wyvern as Commander Arthur Penhaligon drove his momentum forward, the air thick with the copper tang of blood and the sulfurous exhalations of the beast. It was not a battle in the way the old histories described, where heroes stood apart to exchange blows, but a grinding, claustrophobic struggle for...
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