The Golden Suspect
The heat in the citadel of Saint Aveline was not merely a temperature but a physical weight, a suffocating blanket that pressed against your lungs and turned the sweat on your skin into a stinging film of salt and grime. You stood in the narrow, sun-drenched courtyard, your sword raised against the vanguard of the besieging army, the steel singing a high, thin note as it cut the stagnant air,...
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