The Golden Crossing

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2026-08-20 05:09:19 -

You stand in the rotunda. The air tastes of copper and old dust. It is thin. It is cold. You are Colonel James Whitmore. You have come to the Palace of Governance. The sun bleeds through the high windows. Dust motes dance in the light. They are alive. They are dead. You watch them. Your hands tremble. Not from fear. From cold. Or perhaps from the weight of what you carry. A bowl sits on the...

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