The Golden Master
The iron bell rang once. It hung in the great hall of Ashworth Manor, a heavy, blackened disc that had not rung in living memory. Thomas stood before it, his hand resting on the cold metal. He did not strike it. He knew the sound before it came. It was a sound inside him. The manor was old. Older than the stone. It sat on a hill, watching the valley below where the mist coiled like sleeping...
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