The Golden Cellar
The cellar was wet. It smelled of rot and old iron. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room, his hand on the hilt of his service pistol. The beam of his torch cut through the dark, finding nothing but the damp stone walls and the heavy, black mold creeping up the bricks. He had been sent here by Major Halloway. The orders were simple. Find the breach. Seal it. Return. Thorne did...
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