The Golden Circuit
The mist does not care for your hunger. It swirls in the valley like a living thing, indifferent to the cold that bites through your wool coat, indifferent to the debt that has hollowed you out over the last three years. You are Elias Thorne, a border warden, and you are thirty-two years old. Your hands shake as you sharpen your blade, the steel singing a high, thin note against the whetstone....
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