The Golden Circuit
The ink on the parchment had not yet dried when the wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of wet stone and ancient, rotting wood. Alderman Silas Vane sat in the center of the round chamber, his back pressed against the cold, unyielding wall of the Keep. The air was thick, stagnant, smelling of candle smoke and the metallic tang of fear that had seeped into the very mortar of the fortress. He...
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