The Golden Ritual
The village of Oakhaven lay in a bowl of mist that rarely lifted before noon. It was a place of stone walls and older stone floors, where the rain seemed to seep into the bones of the houses as much as the people. Here, the law was not written in books but carved into the lintels of the doorways, worn smooth by centuries of hands that had pushed against them in fear or in faith. Every household...
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