The Golden Cellar
The order came at dawn. We marched out of the trench line before the sun cleared the ridge. The mud sucked at our boots with a wet, tearing sound. I left my rifle in the rack. It was too heavy for what was ahead. My hands were clean. They had not touched a weapon in three days. They were just hands. We walked into the fog. The mist was thick. It tasted of iron and old rain. My companion, Silas,...
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