The Golden Oath
The seed was warm against Elias’s chest, a living coal hidden beneath the rough wool of his tunic. He stood in the center of the abbey’s courtyard, the October air biting at his exposed neck, while Lord Vane’s mercenaries fanned out around the perimeter, their armor clinking with the dry, metallic rhythm of impending violence. The Golden Oath, the last viable specimen of the sacred herb, pulsed...
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