The Golden Echoes
You hold the iron hammer, its head cold against your palm, the weight of it a familiar anchor in the damp air of the chapel. It is the year of our Lord 1342, and the fog outside the stone walls of Oakhaven is thick enough to taste, a grey slurry that clings to the wool of your inquisitor’s cloak. You are Elias, thirty years old, and you have come to purge the Golden Echoes. The order from the...
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