The Golden Crossing
The rotting began at the edges of the saffron, a black mold that spread with the speed of a rumor, turning the most expensive spice in Oria into a pungent sludge that smelled of grave earth and old copper. You watched it happen from the counter of your shop, the wooden surface slick with the moisture of the mist that had rolled in from the harbor that morning, and you knew, with the cold...
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