The Golden Crossing
You enter the Hall of Records not with a key, but with a silence that feels heavy as wet wool. The air is thick, suspended in a timeless amber dust, smelling of old parchment and the metallic tang of ancient iron. You are the new Inspector of Anomalies, a title that sounds grand but feels like a chain. Your task is simple, though the weight of it crushes your chest: you must catalog the lost...
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