The Golden Circuit
The silence fell upon Aethelgard not as a sound, but as a weight, pressing against the obsidian walls of the citadel until the sky itself seemed to lose its pigment, draining into a bruised and hollow grey that mirrored the despair rotting in the hearts of the garrison. I am Elias Thorne, Warden of the Iron Gate, and I write this in the Year of the Black Sun, with my hand trembling not from...
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