The Golden Crossing

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2026-08-22 21:45:37 -

The fire in the Great Hall was not for warmth. It was a statement. The Mayor, a man whose smile never reached his eyes, stood before the assembled council, his velvet doublet catching the light from the torches. He held a golden chalice, swirling the wine as if it were the blood of the city itself. The air smelled of roasting meat and old stone. I stood by the wall, my hand resting on the hilt...

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