The Golden Myth
The mortar cracked. Not with a bang, but with a sigh. A hairline fracture ran through the white ceramic of the bowl, splitting the amber liquid inside. Elias watched the line widen. It was a clean break. Surgical. Precise. The bowl sat on the oak table in the center of the Guild Hall. It was the Master’s bowl. It held the tonic. The elixir that kept the alchemists of St. Jude’s Institute sharp,...
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