The Golden Maze
The mud of the Siege of Vael did not merely soak Kaelen’s boots; it seemed to drink the heat from his bones, a cold, sucking weight that mirrored the bureaucratic strangulation of the Order of the Silver Gate. He stood at the edge of the moat, the rain hammering his helm, watching the keep’s stone walls bleed a viscous, golden sap that hardened into intricate, shifting mazes under the pale...
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