The Golden Crossing
The mist in the valley of Oakhaven did not rise so much as it breathed, a heavy, wet exhalation that clung to the cobblestones and the thatched roofs, erasing the horizon where the river bent beneath the harvest moon. Elias Thorne, the Magistrate, stood at the edge of the old stone bridge, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the code that bound him. He...
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