The Golden Maze
The dream did not begin with light, as one might expect, but with the smell of ozone and wet iron, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elara’s throat and tasted of old coins and impending storms. She stood in the center of a vast, circular atrium, the floor composed of polished obsidian that reflected her face not as it was, but as a distorted, elongated shadow, stretched thin by the...
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