The Golden Quest
The rain slicked the cobblestones of Highgate. It fell in a cold, persistent sheet, turning the gutters into silver ribbons. Elara stood before the gate. She did not knock. She waited. The wood was black with age. The ironwork was rusted, like dried blood. The man inside opened the door. He held a lantern. The light was dim. It cast long, distorted shadows across his face. He was old. His hands...
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