The Golden Mirror
The road to the Vale of Aethelgard was not a path one walked by choice, but a wound in the earth that the traveler could not avoid. Elara’s boots, worn thin over the heels, crunched against the gravel of this desolate track, the sound sharp and final in the still air. She carried no sword, no shield, only a satchel of dried herbs and a letter, its seal broken, its contents a sentence that had...
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