The Golden Ritual
The frost had settled on the glass of the infirmary windows. It formed intricate, fern-like patterns that obscured the view of the courtyard below. Elias stood by the door. His hand hovered near the latch. He did not turn it. He listened. The building breathed. A low, rhythmic hum emanated from the ventilation shafts. It was the sound of the machine keeping the world in check. Elias was a...
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