The Golden Harbor
The bell tower cracked first. It did not fall. It did not shatter into a rain of mortar and stone. It simply opened, like a ripe fruit, splitting down the center with a sound that was less a noise than a physical blow to the chest. You stood in the square, small and trembling against the gray cobblestones. The dust rose. It hung in the air, a thick, yellow fog that smelled of ancient lime and...
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