The Golden Compass
The rain had turned the road into a slurry of brown mud and shattered leaves, and you walked with the heavy, rhythmic cadence of a man who had forgotten how to be light. On your back, wrapped in oilskin and secured by straps that had long since worn thin into your shoulders, was the sword. It was not a weapon of war, not in the way the court understood war. It was a relic of a lineage that had...
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