The Golden Downtown
The bell did not ring. It was a heavy, iron-bound sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of the watchmen’s bones rather than in the air, a low thrum that echoed off the damp stone walls of the keep. Thomas stood at the center of the courtyard, his hands resting on the pommel of a sword he would never draw, his posture rigid as a statue carved from the same grey granite as the fortress. To...
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