The Golden Quest
The mud of the borderlands was not merely wet; it was a living thing that sought to swallow Elias Thorne whole, sucking at his boots with the tenacious, cold pull of a grave. He stood knee-deep in the mire, the rain lashing his face in stinging needles, while the spectral stag circled him with a patience that felt older than the soil beneath his feet. The beast was made of fog and malice, its...
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