The Golden Maze
The rain fell in sheets, gray and relentless, turning the cobblestones of Millhaven into slick mirrors that reflected the bruised sky. Elias Thorne adjusted the collar of his coat, the heavy fabric humming against his spine like a plucked cello string. He was fifty years old, an archivist by trade and by stubbornness, and he had come to the valley not to fight, but to save what could be saved...
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