The Golden Quest
The blade sang. It cut the air and the silence. I held it tight. My hands shook. Not from cold. From rage. The man before me was tall. He wore silver armor. It gleamed in the torchlight. He looked at me with pity. Not fear. Pity. I hated pity. I was the Seeker. I had come for the heart. The golden heart. It was his. Or so I thought. "Yield," he said. His voice was soft. Like wind through dry...
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