The Golden Cellar
The cellar door is heavy, oaken, and smells of damp earth and old iron. You stand before it, your hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of the order in your pocket. You are a man of the law, a guardian of the realm’s most ancient and sacred duty, yet tonight you feel less like a protector and more like a butcher. The village of Oakhaven has grown quiet, a silence so thick it...
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