The Golden Suspect
The road ends here. You know this. You have walked it a thousand times in your dreams, and once in the flesh, under a sky that had forgotten how to rain. The tower stands against the horizon, a needle of black stone piercing the grey belly of the dawn. It is ancient. Older than the kings who built the walls that surround it. Older than the language used to carve its name into the base. You are...
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