The Golden Crossing
The summons arrived at dawn, a parchment heavy with wax that smelled of pine and rot, demanding Captain Elias Thorne’s presence at the Golden Crossing before the sun crested the eastern ridge. Elias, a man whose face had been carved by twenty years of service and the sharp, silent grief of a wife lost to fever three winters prior, did not argue with the ink, though his hands trembled as he...
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