The Golden Ritual
The first crack appeared in the glass of the Grand Hall at precisely noon, a thin white line that ran from the ceiling’s apex to the dust-covered floor. It did not shatter. It merely held, a frozen scream suspended in the air of the Academy, where the air smelled of ozone and old paper. Professor Arthur Penhaligon stood before the lecture hall, his hands trembling not from fear, but from a...
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