The Golden Myth

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2026-08-19 17:24:38 -

The Golden Myth

The mud on my boots was the same color as the clay pots in the cellar, a deep, dried earth that smelled of iron and rot. I had walked for three days from the border, following the trail of the sickness that had taken half the garrison at Oakhaven. I am a keeper of the gate, a soldier by trade, but in these times, a soldier is just a man who carries a heavier weight than he can bear. My name is...

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