The Golden Song
Act I Duty is a debt that never comes due, but the interest is paid in blood. I stood in the mud of the border skirmish, the rain turning the terraced hills into a slurry of grey and brown, clutching a parchment that burned against my palm. I was thirty-two, a sergeant, and I wanted only to survive the night to deliver this document to my commanding officer. The ink on the page began to bleed,...
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