The Golden Oath
Act I The stone of the citadel did not sleep, it waited, a hunger that grew with the heat of the high summer dusk. Nazario Beltrán, thirty-two, stood in the cramped nave of the chapel, his chisel biting into the white marble of the altar that had to be finished by dawn. He needed the pardon, the document that would save his family from the debt of labor that bound them to the quarried hillside,...
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