The Golden Maze
You are wiping blood from the hilt of your sword with a rag that smells of old iron and wet wool, your hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence. The corridor of the Oakhaven Labyrinth is narrow, the stone walls sweating with a condensation that tastes of copper and decay. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, a knight of the Order of the Iron Veil, and...
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