The Golden Oath
The iron circlet sat heavy in Elias Thorne’s palm, its surface cold and pitted with the oxidation of decades, the metal biting into the meat of his fingers as he turned it over and over, feeling the grooves where it had been forged. It was a simple band, unadorned, yet it carried the weight of the earth itself, a tool of his trade that allowed him to sense the spiritual density of the living, a...
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