The Golden Maze
The mud of the border road sucked at your boots with a wet, tearing sound as you rode away from the manor. Your father lay in the high window, a silhouette against the dying light, his coughs punctuating the silence like cracks in old stone. You had come for the Golden Labyrinth, the artifact he whispered was the only cure for his wasting lung. He called it a curse, a thing of shifting gold...
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