The Golden Crossing
The first thing you notice is the smell of ozone and wet copper, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat before you even open your eyes. You are standing in the center of the town square, the cobblestones slick with a rain that has been falling for three days, a rain that does not stop, a rain that feels less like weather and more like a verdict. Your uniform is drenched, the wool...
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