The Golden Farce
The glass orb shattered not with a sound, but with a silence so profound it felt like the earth inhaling. Elara watched the shards scatter across the obsidian floor of the High Hall, each fragment catching the torchlight like a dying star. She did not flinch. Her hands, still raised in the gesture of binding, slowly lowered, fingers trembling not from fear, but from the sudden, violent weight...
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