The Golden Ritual
The tribunal hall smelled of ozone and stale lavender, a scent that had permeated the very weave of the velvet drapes over the course of three centuries of administrative justice. Elias Thorne sat at the center of the octagonal room, his hands resting on the polished mahogany table, fingers stained with the iridescent residue of the vials he had spent the last decade distilling. Before him...
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