The Golden Mirror
The rain did not fall in Aldermere; it was summoned, a gray and relentless curtain that erased the line between the cobblestones and the sky. Thomas Ashworth stood at the threshold of the watchtower, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not been drawn in a decade, feeling the cold seep through the leather of his gauntlet. He was not a knight of high renown, nor a lord with lands to...
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