The Golden Harbor
The iron gate shrieked against the fog, a sound like a bone snapping in the dark, and I stood at the threshold of the Abbey of St. Jude, my hand resting on the hilt of a sword that felt less like steel and more like a cold, heavy limb attached to my body. I was the Captain of the Night Watch, a title that had once meant the shield of the realm and now meant merely the keeper of a silence so...
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