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... last time, no entourage, no banners, no fanfare. Just the rhythmic clop of his horse’s hooves against the polished white marble of the Golden Stone Road.

He remembered it well. How could he not? Once, it had paved before him like a divine test. Now, it greeted him like an old enemy, masking its sharp edges beneath charm.

The marble beneath him still glowed faintly with filigree gold. Still warm beneath the hooves, as if the sun had been hammered into the road’s veins.

The ...

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