The Golden Harbor
The rope is cut." The clerk’s whisper was barely audible over the roar of the crowd, yet it struck Elias Thorne with the force of a physical blow, stopping the gavel mid-air before it could strike the sounding block. He stood on the raised dais of the Golden Harbor, the ancient stone slick with the morning fog that had rolled in from the sea, his robes heavy and damp against his skin. Below...
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