The Golden Oath
The mud of Oakhaven did not dry; it fermented. Captain Elias Thorne stood on the parapet, his boots sinking into the slurry as if the earth itself were swallowing him whole. In his left hand, he gripped the Golden Oath, a relic of twisted metal and ancient runes that hummed against his palm like a living thing. The air was thick with the scent of rot and ozone. He wanted to break the siege. He...
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