The Golden Harbor
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s does not ring to mark the hour, but to scream the news of the fall, a sound that cracks the cobblestones and shatters the brittle silence of the market square. You stand at the edge of the crowd, your hand still resting on the hilt of your sword, the leather worn smooth by decades of service, a testament to a discipline that has long since hollowed out your...
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