The Golden Master
The alarm did not chime; it screamed, a jagged tear in the velvet silence of the archive that shook the dust from the high beams and into our throats. I was standing before the glass case that held the Codex of Silences, a manuscript so old its pages felt like dried skin, when the air itself seemed to curdle, thickening until we could not breathe. We are the keepers of the dead, my colleagues...
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