The Golden Maze
The rain fell in heavy, slanting sheets against the slate roof of the watchtower, drumming a relentless, polyrhythmic beat that seemed to synchronize with the pounding of Caelan’s heart, a steady, mechanical thrumming that he had long since learned to suppress beneath the cold, rigid discipline of his duty, which was to stand guard over the perimeter of the Old Quarter, that crumbling,...
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