The Golden Ritual
The banquet hall of the Citadel of Aethelgard smelled of roasted boar, stale honey, and the heavy, metallic tang of ancient stone that had absorbed centuries of secrets. I sat at the high table, my armor polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the flickering candlelight and the weary faces of the elders who watched me with a mixture of reverence and profound, unspoken horror. I was the Warden of...
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