The Golden Maze
The glass was not merely an object; it was a verdict, suspended in the amber light of the chandelier that swayed with the breath of the great hall. It sat upon the pedestal in the center of the Court of Whispers, a cylinder of polished obsidian and gold leaf, humming with a frequency that only Elias Thorne could hear, a low, tectonic groan that vibrated in the marrow of his bones. Elias stood...
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