The Golden Cellar
The cellar was warm. It smelled of damp earth and old apples. This was wrong. The cellar should have been cold. It should have been dark. Instead, it glowed. A soft, amber light pulsed from the jars. Hundreds of them. Rows of glass. Rows of gold. Elias stood in the doorway. He held his rifle. His hand was steady. He was a soldier. He knew how to hold a gun. He knew how to walk into a room. But...
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