The Golden Song
The fire began at the spire. It climbed. Mist coiled around the tower. Mist was not water. It was breath. The building breathed. Elias Thorne stood in the atrium. He watched the gold bleed. The light was heavy. It fell like honey. It fell like blood. He had come for the truth. He had come to find it. The air tasted of ozone. The air tasted of iron. His heart beat slow. His heart beat hard. He...
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