The Golden Echoes
The rain hits the wet stones of the courtyard like a handful of gravel, cold and sharp against your face. You stand there, Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, your uniform soaked through to the skin, the weight of your service heavy in your shoulders. You want the paper. The signed commendation that proves you were loyal, not just surviving. The gate creaks open, the sound loud in the sudden...
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