The Golden Ritual
The gavel strikes. The sound is wet. It cracks the air in the small, wood-paneled room. You are standing. Your hands are shaking. You are not a criminal. You are not a hero. You are a man holding a silver spoon. The spoon is cold. It is smooth. It has been in your pocket for six years. It is a relic. A ghost. It belongs to a man who is no longer here. It belongs to a time that no longer exists....
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