The Golden Oath
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey sheet that blurred the boundary between the stone walls of the abbey and the heathered moor beyond, creating a world of muted tones where the sound of water dripping from the eaves was the only rhythm that mattered to Elias Thorne, a man who had spent the better part of four decades decoding the silent languages of ancient scripts and...
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