The Golden Visit

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2026-08-20 11:06:05 -

The Golden Visit

The rain did not fall. It hung. A grey, weeping curtain that sealed the valley against the world above. Caelen sat at the table. The wood was oak. Old. Scarred by decades of knife work and spilled ale. He was a glassblower. His hands were thick. Knuckles swollen. Skin mapped with white, silvery scars from molten sand and hot iron. He looked at the door. The door was shut. The lock was iron....

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