The Golden Ritual
The mortar shell hits the wall three feet from your head, and the taste of copper floods your mouth, thick and metallic, like licking a battery or biting down on a penny that has been left in the rain too long. You do not scream. You do not flinch. You simply watch the dust settle, a fine gray powder that coats the back of your throat and tastes of old stone and ancient secrets, while the rest...
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