The Golden Quest
The rain fell in sheets against the slate roof of the watchtower. Silas Kettler pressed his rifle tighter against his shoulder. The wood was wet. Cold. He did not care. Below him, the village of Oakhaven lay under a blanket of grey mist. The fog was thick. It ate the light. It ate the sound. Silas was the last of the Wardens. He had held the line for thirty years. His knees ached. A dull,...
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