The Golden Echoes
The hall was thick with the scent of roasted lamb and beeswax, a suffocating warmth that seemed to press against the skin like a wet wool cloak. It was the feast of the Midwinter Solstice, a tradition that had outlasted the very kings who had founded it, and the great stone chamber of the Athenaeum hummed with the low, resonant murmur of three hundred scholars, philosophers, and courtiers. They...
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