The Golden Oath
The stone was cold. It bit into my palm. I held the key. It was brass. It was worn. The teeth were smooth. They had been smoothed by years of hands like mine. Hands that shook. Hands that feared. I stood in the vault. The air was stale. It tasted of dust. And damp. And old money. The vault was part of the bank. The Old Bank. We called it the Keep. The walls were thick. They were made of...
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