The Golden Oath
The air in Aethelgard did not merely exist; it pressed against the skin like a damp wool blanket, humming with a low, persistent static that vibrated in the teeth and settled in the marrow. It was a city bound by oaths, where the stone walls sweated a faint, golden residue and the very atmosphere seemed to judge the intent of every soul that walked its cobbled streets. Elias Thorne, a...
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