The Golden Cellar
You arrive at the gate of the citadel with your hands bound behind your back, the rough hemp biting into your wrists, and the air is thick with the scent of wet stone and old blood. It is not a storm that has brought you here, but a silence, a profound and terrifying quiet that has settled over the valley like a shroud. You are the Royal Chronicler, the keeper of the King’s true word, and you...
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