The Golden Visit
The rain had not stopped for three days. It hammered against the roof of the outpost, a relentless, metallic drumming that filled the small room with the smell of wet stone and old paper. Silas stood by the window, his back to the fire, watching the mist swallow the road. In his left hand, he held the object that had changed the course of the week. It was a small, brass cylinder, no larger than...
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