The Golden Echoes
The ledger shows eleven years of service. Eleven years of counting hours, weighing sacks of salt for the preservation bins, and patching the mortar on the west wall. You are thirty-two. Your pension is due in thirty days. In thirty days, you will marry Sarah. The manor of Blackwood is old, older than the kingdom it serves, and the fog that clings to its stones is not just weather. It is a...
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