The Golden Cellar
The sky does not break; it shatters, a sudden, violent fragmentation of azure into jagged shards of gold and bruised purple that fall like heavy glass upon the cobblestones, and you stand in the center of the courtyard, your armor dented and cold, watching the debris land with the soft, wet thud of ripe fruit hitting mud, and you know with a certainty that is deeper than bone, older than...
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