The Golden Quest
The steel of the breastplate was cold, a slab of polished iron that hummed against the skin. It was not just armor; it was a mirror, and in its dark, curved surface, Elias saw not the Captain of the Royal Guard, but a man with hollow cheeks and eyes that had seen too much. He stood in the antechamber of the High Justiciar, the smell of damp stone and old wax rising from the floorboards. The...
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