The Golden Myth
The iron breastplate of Commander Silas Vane did not reflect the world; it absorbed it. For three decades, he had worn the polished steel not as armor against arrows or spears, but as a shield against the quiet, rotting truth of his own soul. The city of Aethelgard, a sprawling labyrinth of stone and shadow that defied the linear logic of time, hummed with a magic so pervasive it felt less like...
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