The Golden Harbor
The scream did not come from the mouth. It came from the marrow, a white-hot shard of agony that drove through Enoch’s spine and erupted in a sound that shook the dust from the high beams of the Grand Hall. He fell to his knees, his hands clawing at the stone floor, not in prayer, but in a desperate attempt to anchor himself to the earth as the world tilted into a void of crimson and gold. The...
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