The Golden Scar
The road into the citadel of Aethelgard was not a path of dust and stone, but a vein of molten gold that pulsed beneath the feet of the travelers, humming with a low, subsonic thrum that vibrated in the marrow of the bones. It was a journey that had taken three days, yet felt like a single, breathless heartbeat, as the light did not fade into night but simply deepened into a bruised, amber...
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