The Golden Downtown
The mud in the courtyard of the Citadel of St. Jude had turned to a thick, sucking paste by the time Elias Thorne arrived, his boots caked in the grey slurry of the lower city. He stood before the iron gate, his breath pluming in the cold air, and watched the Golden Mist swirl around the feet of the guard who refused him entry. The mist was a pale, iridescent haze that clung to the ground like...
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