The Golden Mirror
The mist did not merely cover the road to the monastery of St. Jude; it swallowed it, a thick, wet grey wool that strangled the breath of the ancient pines and blurred the horizon into a void where the kingdom of Aethelgard’s rigid hierarchy dissolved into the raw, unadorned truth of decay. Commander Elias Thorne, a man whose joints had long since surrendered to the grinding weight of five...
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