The Golden Cellar
The cellar was a wound in the earth. It did not breathe, nor did it rot. It simply endured, a hollow space beneath the manor where the roots of the ancient oaks pressed against the stone like fingers testing a pulse. Caelen stood in the center of it, the darkness pressing against his skin, heavy and cold. He had come to destroy it. That was the plan. That was the order. The High Magistrate had...
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