The Golden Ritual
The air in the vault was not merely stale; it was a physical weight, a viscous fog that tasted of copper and old parchment, settling into the creases of Captain Julian Thorne’s uniform and clinging to the sweat that beaded on his forehead despite the unnatural chill that seeped from the walls of the obsidian chamber. He stood at the center of the circular dais, his boots planted firmly on the...
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