The Golden Cellar
The alarm did not wake Elias. It was the sound of the shatter that did. It began in the dream, a high, crystalline shriek that pierced the thick fog of his sleep. He was standing in a room that was not a room, but a vast, empty white void. In the center, suspended by nothing, hung a sphere of glass. It was not clear. It was opaque, swirling with a slow, viscous gold. It pulsed. A heartbeat made...
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