The Golden Master
The tower stood not as a monument to glory but as a wound in the sky, its stone skin flaking away in slow, rust-colored scales that drifted down to the courtyard like the ash of a fire long extinguished, where the air was thick with the scent of damp mortar and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep up from the cracked flagstones whenever the wind shifted from the north, carrying...
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