The Golden Maze
The cold was a physical thing. It pressed against the skin like a heavy hand. I held my hand out. The wind bit. I looked at my fingers. They were stiff. The joints ached. I pulled my glove tighter. The leather cracked. A thin line ran across the knuckle. I watched it. The cold did not care. "Your submission is rejected." The voice came from the High Chamber. It was flat. It was dry. It held no...
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