The Golden Harbor
The iron bolt lay in my palm, cold and heavy, its surface pitted by the salt air. It was the last piece of meteoric iron in the inventory, catalogued as Item 7-B, a dense, black shard that had fallen from the sky three centuries ago. I held it against the ancient stone of the gate, feeling the vibration of the mechanism beneath my fingers. The fog was thick, a physical wall of grey that...
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