The Golden Oath
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash things clean; it only made the mud slicker and the shadows deeper. Elias was in the middle of a street, his back against the cold stone of the bakery, swinging a hammer that had no head, only a jagged edge of iron. Before him stood a figure made of wet darkness, wearing his own face. The doppelganger did not strike back. It merely watched, its mouth opening to...
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