The Golden Oath
The morning light entered the stone cellar through a single, barred aperture, cutting a pale diagonal across the damp flagstones. Elias Thorne sat on his straw mattress, the rough texture grinding against his spine, and watched the dust motes dance in that beam. He had been here for three days. The silence of the place was not empty; it was heavy, pressing against his eardrums like deep water....
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