The Golden Maze
The city of Veridion was built as a maze of gold. Not the vulgar gold of coin or crown, but the gold of autumn leaves, of weathered honeycomb, of the last light that clings to cathedral windows at the hour when all prayer ends. Arthur Pendelton walked its corridors every morning, as he had for thirty years, and each time he felt the same quiet terror—the sense that the maze was watching him...
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