The Golden Master

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2026-08-20 13:50:03 -

The Golden Master

The rain does not stop. It hammers the thatch of the wagon. You are wet. You are cold. You hold the cloak tight against your chest. It is heavy. It is soaked. It smells of damp wool and old blood. You do not know why you are here. You do not know why you carry it. You only know that it is yours. It was given to you. By him. By the one who died. You look at the road. It is mud. It is deep. The...

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