The Golden Quest
The air in the refectory hung thick, a suspended breath of roast lamb and heavy, oaked red wine. It was a feast of the old world, untouched by the sharp edges of the new century that pressed against the high, arched windows. Captain Silas Thorne sat at the head of the long oak table, his uniform immaculate, a white shirt beneath the tunic so stiff it seemed to cut the air. He did not eat. He...
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