The Golden Harbor
The iron key was cold in Elias’s palm, the metal biting into the wet skin of his calloused fingers. It was a small thing, no larger than a walnut, yet it felt as heavy as the guilt that had driven him out of Vane three days prior. Behind him, the city burned, a jagged scar of orange against the bruised purple sky, the smoke rising in thick, oily columns that choked the air. Beside him, Mara...
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