The Golden Song
The dream did not begin with light, but with the smell of wet stone and the low, thrumming vibration of a bell that had no source. Elias Thorne stood in the center of a circular hall, the floor paved in black slate that reflected his own face back at him, distorted and pale, a mirror that showed not his features but the hollows within them. This was the Court of Silence, a place that existed...
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