The Golden Maze
The year was 1240, and the air in Aethelgard tasted of rot and iron, a thick, suffocating miasma that clung to the wool of Elias’s tunic and settled deep in his lungs like fine ash. He walked with the mechanical precision of a man who has long since ceased to feel the ground beneath his boots, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the city’s jagged silhouette gave way to the untamed, whispering...
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