The Golden Maze
The copper taste of the air in Aethelgard is not a metaphor but a physical weight, settling in the back of your throat like a coin you have swallowed and cannot retrieve, and as you press your thumb against the jagged edge of the golden grain, the skin splits and bleeds, a hot, bright line of crimson that starkly contrasts with the brittle, yellow stalks surrounding you. You are Elias Thorne, a...
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