The Golden Song
The carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestones of Aethelgard, a sound like teeth grinding against bone, as Silas Vane adjusted the leather case in his lap, his knuckles white not from cold but from the sheer, vibrating tension of a man who believed his own blood was thicker than the laws of physics. He was thirty years old, a Captain of the Royal Guard, and he carried in that small,...
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