The Golden Cellar
The cellar door was not so much opened as surrendered, groaning against the weight of centuries of damp earth and silence. Inside, the air tasted of iron and old stone, a flavor that coated the back of Thomas’s throat with a metallic persistence. He did not look back at the torchlight flickering behind him, nor did he acknowledge the heavy, iron-shod boots of the Inquisitor’s men echoing on the...
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