The Golden Oath
The iron is cold. That is the first thing you know. It bites into the palm, a sharp, metallic taste that blooms in the mouth before you even taste it. You are Thomas. You are the Warden. You stand in the center of the great hall of Blackwood Manor, and the floorboards groan under the weight of your boots. The air is thick with dust and the scent of wet stone. It is the year of the Silence. No...
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