The Golden Ritual
The iron taste of blood was thick in Aldric’s mouth, coating his tongue like a secret he had not yet learned how to keep. He stood in the center of the Grand Hall of Oakhaven, a structure that had once been a cathedral of light and now was a cage of shadows and rusted beams. The air did not smell of incense or prayer, but of ozone and the metallic tang of old wounds. Around him, the chandeliers...
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