The Golden Ritual
The stone was not merely a wall; it was the lung of the realm, expanding and contracting with the breath of the King. You stand before it, your hands pressed flat against the cold, weeping masonry, feeling the vibration of the machinery within. It is a Tuesday, though days have lost their meaning in the Court of Aethelgard, where time is measured not by the sun but by the tolling of the great...
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