The Golden Oath
The air in the Great Hall of Oakhaven was thick with the scent of roasted venison, beeswax candles, and the underlying, metallic tang of old iron, a combination that seemed to hang in the beams of the ceiling like a suspended judgment, heavy and unyielding, as the gathered townsfolk sat in rows of carved oak chairs, their faces illuminated by the flickering light that danced across the polished...
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