The Golden Song
The air in the High Hall of Aethelgard tasted of iron and old smoke, a metallic tang that coated the back of Aldric’s throat as he raised the broken hilt of his sword. It was not a weapon anymore, merely a splinter of steel and oak that had failed him, and in his hand, it felt like a dead thing, cold and useless against the pulsing, unnatural heat of the creature before him. The beast was not...
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