The Golden Myth
The fog rolled in from the river, thick as wool, swallowing the iron spikes of the foundry district until only the orange glow of the furnace vents remained. Elias Thorne woke with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was thirty-four years old, a sergeant in the Oakhaven militia, and he was drowning in debt. The dream was the same every night: a gate of solid...
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