The Golden Maze
The dream is always the same. You are in a corridor of gold, the walls lined with mirrors that do not reflect your face but your failures. You see yourself as a traitor, a coward, a man who sells his soul for a coat of arms. You wake with sweat on your brow, the stone floor of your barracks cold against your back. It is dawn in the capital, and the air smells of horse dung and impending rain....
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