The Golden Ritual
The frost had settled into the crevices of the old stone wall like a fine, white powder that no amount of breath could melt away, and Elias Thorne stood before it with the heavy, wet sensation of a man who has been drowning in air for the better part of a decade, his fingers trembling not from the cold which was merely a physical inconvenience but from the profound, structural vertigo of a mind...
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