The Golden Echoes
The road to the Citadel of Aethelgard was not merely a path of packed earth and crushed stone, but a long, winding throat through which the world exhaled its ancient, heavy breath, carrying with it the scent of wet pine, rotting leaf, and the metallic tang of impending rain. Margaret Holloway walked it alone, her boots sinking into the mud with a rhythmic, sucking sound that seemed to echo the...
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