The Golden Oath
The cart wheels groaned against the cobblestones of the old quarter, a sound like the grinding of teeth in a fever dream, as the procession of scholars and scribes moved in a single, unbroken line toward the Citadel of Whispers, a fortress of black stone that seemed less like a building and more like a scar upon the sky, where the air grew thin and tasted of iron and old dust, carrying with it...
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