The Golden Oath
The mud of Oakhaven was not merely wet; it was a living thing, sucking at Elias Thorne’s boots with a greedy, rhythmic pull that matched the beating of his heart. He stood before the northern gate, his sword raised, the blade trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the moment. Behind him, the granary stood silent and full, a promise of life that the town’s council had...
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