The Golden Harbor
The cellar smelled of wet stone and old iron. You stood in the center of the room, your boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The air was thick. It pressed against your skin. It tasted of rust. Above you, the floorboards creaked under the weight of the world. You could hear the war. It was a distant thunder. A low, rolling growl that vibrated in your teeth. It was not here. Not yet. But...
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