The Golden Quest
The iron key bit into the meat of Elias Thorne’s palm, the handle worn smooth by two decades of sweat and rust, a familiar weight that had once felt like a shield but now felt like an anchor dragging him down into the damp earth of the Inquisition’s lower cells. He was forty years old, a man whose face had been carved by the same stone corridors he walked, and he held the key with a grip that...
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