The Golden Master
The jar is in your hand. It is heavy. The glass is thick and clouded with age, and inside, the amber liquid sloshes against the rim. You do not look at it. You look at the man before you. His face is a map of old bruises and new scars. He is tall. He stands in the center of the courtyard. The stone is wet from the night rain. The air smells of wet wool and iron. You are the keeper. You are the...
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