The Golden Myth
Elias. The name was not spoken, but it was in the air, a summons from the stone itself, vibrating up through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your shins. You stood in the center of the Iron Gate customs house, a structure of ancient, mist-choked granite that had stood at the border of the two kingdoms for three centuries, though the maps had changed names and flags while the walls...
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