The Golden Ritual
The carriage wheels grated against the cobblestones of King’s Road, a sound like the grinding of old bones, and I sat in the shadows of the back seat, watching the rain streak the windows with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like a slow, deliberate erasure of the world outside. I was not a king, nor a lord, nor even a knight in the shining armor that the bards sing of, but I...
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