The Golden Oath
The rain smells of iron. You know this. You have always known this. It is the scent of the old world, the one you left when the borders closed and the language changed. You stand on the edge of the cliff. The mist is thick. It eats the rocks below. It eats your shadow. You are here to find the Ring. Everyone says it is a myth. A story for children. A trick of the light in the fog. But you feel...
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