The Golden Mirror
The fire did not start with a spark. It began with a scream, a raw, tearing sound that ripped through the silence of the Hall of Whispers like a bolt of lightning striking dry thatch. Elara stood at the edge of the dais, her fingers trembling against the cold stone railing. Below her, the assembly of the High Court was in chaos. Robes of crimson and gold twisted and tumbled. The air, usually...
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