The Golden Echoes
The air in the courtyard tasted of iron and old stone, a metallic tang that coated the back of your throat before you had even drawn a breath. You stood before the Gate of Whispers, that massive archway of black granite that seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it. In your hand, the sword felt less like a weapon and more like a limb, a heavy, cold extension of your own will. You were...
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