The Golden Cellar
The road into the valley of Oakhaven was not a path so much as a scar, a long, winding gouge in the earth where the soil had turned to a pale, chalky dust that clung to the soles of boots and settled in the creases of skin. Elias Thorne walked this road for three days, his leather satchel heavy against his back, the straps digging into his shoulders with a dull, rhythmic ache that had long...
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