The Golden Farce
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain woven from the breath of the city’s ancient stones. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the market square, the cobblestones slick and treacherous beneath his boots, his arm raised high in a posture of violent intent. In his hand, the heavy hammer trembled, not from fatigue but from the sheer, resonant weight of the blow he was...
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