The Golden Oath
Act I Erik Nystrom’s hands shook as he lifted the heavy oak lid, the grain worn smooth by decades of thumbs. The cellar was cold, the air tasting of salt and wet stone, and the only light came from a single, flickering lantern that cast long, jagged shadows against the damp walls. He was twenty-four, a junior scribe in the imperial court, but tonight he felt like a beggar. His brother, Lars,...
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