The Golden Quest
The air in the Hall of Echoes did not smell of dust, as one might expect in a place suspended between seconds, but of wet earth and crushed violets, a scent so heavy it felt like a physical weight against the lungs. It was a banquet of light, a shimmering, translucent feast laid out upon a floor of polished obsidian that reflected the ceiling’s impossible, starless firmament. Tables draped in...
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