The Golden Harbor
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the outer courtyard into a slick, grey mirror that reflected the towering, jagged silhouette of the Spire. It was a cold, damp kind of cold, the sort that settled into the marrow and refused to leave, making the air taste of wet iron and old dust. In the high, vaulted room at the summit of the tower, where the wind howled...
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