The Golden Visit
The second year of the Great Silence had settled over the Ironwood Keep like a layer of ash, and you stood at the gate, watching Edward Ashworth march away into the fog, his boots crunching on the gravel with a rhythm that felt less like a step and more like a heartbeat fading into distance. You were thirty, a border warden with the calloused hands of a man who had spent a decade holding the...
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