The Golden Circuit
The ink on the parchment was still wet when the first tremor ran through the floorboards of the Citadel, a low, grinding vibration that rose from the earth itself, as if the mountain upon which the garrison sat was slowly grinding its teeth in its sleep. Sir Kaelen Vane sat at his desk, a slab of rough-hewn oak that had served three generations of commanders, and watched the quill tip tremble...
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