The Golden Crossing

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2026-08-24 18:58:43 -

What remains when the ink dries and the hand that held the quill is gone? Act I The banquet hall of the caravanserai smelled of rosewater and stale sweat, a cloying mixture that clung to the back of Ali Rezaei’s throat. He stood at the center of the room, his robes heavy with the dust of the road, while the High Priest, a man whose name was spoken only in whispers, pointed a finger at the...

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