The Golden Maze
The fire did not roar; it whispered, a dry, rasping sound like the turning of ancient pages, consuming the spires of the High Court in a silence that was louder than any scream. You watched from the ramparts, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword, feeling the heat press against your face like a physical weight, a warm palm against cold stone. The city below, a labyrinth of slate and...
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