The Golden Maze
The gate was broken. It had been broken for a year, or perhaps a decade. Time in the Hollow did not keep to the hours. It pooled in the corners and evaporated from the center. Elara stood before the splintered oak. She held the Labyrinth in her hands. It was not a maze of stone. It was a thread of gold, thin as a hair, coiled tight against her palm. It hummed. The hum was a low vibration that...
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