The Golden Master
The sky over the moor did not fall; it peeled away, like the skin from a burnt apple, revealing a void that was not black but a searing, absolute white, a light so intense it stripped the color from the heather and the distant stone walls, leaving only the geometry of the land in stark, blinding relief. Thomas Braddock stood in the middle of the track, his boots sinking into the wet earth, and...
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