The Golden Crossing
The iron taste of the Shimmering Veil filled my mouth before I even crossed the threshold. I am Elias Thorne, a scholar of medieval cartography, and I stood at the edge of the mist on a dawn in November, my boots sinking into the damp earth of the moor. I wanted the locket. It was the only thing left of my son, Arthur, who had drowned three years ago in the river below our estate. The Veil was...
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