The Golden Oath
The sky broke open like a bruised egg. Rain fell. Not gently. It hammered the tin roofs of the valley until they screamed. The wind howled through the pines, a low, guttural moan that shook the roots. Silas stood at the edge of the cliff. His boots were mud-caked. His hands were shaking. He held the spear. It was made of steel and bone. It was the only thing he had left. Behind him, the others...
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