The Golden Maze
You press the golden circlet against the iron portcullis, the metal biting into your palm, and feel the hum of the city’s ancient, grinding machinery vibrate through your bones as the guards’ spears, tipped with a pale, supernatural frost, lock into place before your face. The air in the outer courtyard of Oria is thick with the scent of wet stone and old blood, a smell that clings to the wool...
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