The Golden Maze
The magistrate’s boots clicked against the flagstones, a sharp, rhythmic sound that cut through the smell of damp rot and old blood hanging in the air. Thomas stood at the threshold, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the leather worn smooth by twenty years of grip. He did not look up at the man who held the order to destroy his home, but at the crew of masons behind him, their...
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