The Golden Harbor
Act I Oyalu Pell’s hands were already shaking when he reached for the latch, the metal cold and slick with the damp that clung to the shrine isle. He did not stop to check the lock; he simply forced it, the chain snapping against the doorframe with a sound that swallowed the wind. Inside, the air was thick, stale, and tasted of iron and old paper. The lamp on the desk burned without oil, its...
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