The Golden Myth

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2026-08-19 10:19:30 -

The Golden Myth

The banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb and ozone. It was a strange scent for a modern correctional facility, yet the air hummed with a static charge that made the hair on Marcus’s arms stand on end. He sat at the head of the long oak table, his hands folded tightly in his lap. Before him lay a single, golden apple. It was not fruit. It was a sphere of polished metal, warm to the touch,...

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