The Golden Ritual
The departure was not a leaving but a dissolving, a slow evaporation into the grey morning air of the capital. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the terrace, his coat buttoned to the chin, watching the rain slick the cobblestones below. He was a man of middling years, a clerk in the Ministry of Public Order, a position that required him to file the dreams of the populace into neat, categorized...
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