The Golden Myth
The seal is broken. You know this before you even open the door to the Hall of Whispers, before the air hits your skin with that distinct, metallic taste of ozone and old stone. The seal was a thing of ink and iron, a geometric loop of words that were supposed to bind the truth to the floor, to keep the history of the Kingdom of Aethelgard fixed in amber. But it has worn away. It has rubbed off...
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