The Golden Crossing

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2026-08-24 12:36:23 -

The fog did not smell of rain, but of wet wool and old iron. Captain Elias Thorne gripped the hilt of his sword, the leather worn smooth by twenty years of service, and watched the mist curl around the arches of the Golden Bridge. It was the hour of the wolf, the light thin and gray, stripping the highland pass of all color. His men, twenty-four strong, stood in a ragged line behind him, their...

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