The Golden Crossing

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-21 16:04:52 -

The room was white. It smelled of salt and old iron. Silas sat on the floor. His hands were bound. Not with rope. With light. Thin, golden threads wrapped around his wrists. They hummed. A low, constant drone. Like bees trapped in a jar. He looked at his hands. They were pale. Shriveled. The skin pulled tight over the bones. He remembered the weight of the sword. The heat of the forge. He was a...

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