The Golden Ritual

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2026-08-19 09:42:03 -

The Golden Ritual

The iron taste of blood was the only thing that felt real, metallic and cold against the back of my throat. I spat it onto the cobblestones of the Great Hall, a dark smear against the pale stone, and wiped my lip with the back of a gauntleted hand. Across the dais, Lord Ashworth sat in his high-backed chair of carved oak, his face a mask of polite, terrifying patience. He did not blink. He did...

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