The Golden Cellar
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old university town into a slick, reflective mirror of the crumbling facades above, and it was in this damp, suffocating atmosphere that Elias Thorne found himself standing before the heavy oak doors of the Archivist’s Office, his coat soaked through to the skin, his hands trembling not from...
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