The Golden Oath
The air in the Grand Hall of the Provincial Assembly smelled of old varnish, damp wool, and the faint, metallic tang of anxiety that seemed to permeate the very stones of the building, a scent that had settled into the pores of Elias Thorne’s skin over the last three months of his quiet, invisible labor within these corridors. He stood now in the shadow of a marble column, his hands clasped...
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