The Golden Oath
The harvest fire roars, consuming the last of the dried stalks in the courtyard, and the smoke stings your eyes, but you do not blink. You are Elias Thorne, quartermaster of the border garrison, and your hands are steady as they accept the small glass vial from the village elder, a gesture that feels less like a gift and more like a surrender. The air smells of roasted pork, spilled wine, and...
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