The Golden Ritual
The vial in Elias Thorne’s hand was not merely glass; it was a compressed fragment of the morning, holding within its slender, cylindrical throat a liquid the color of dried honey. It was the third day of the Ascension Trials, and the air in the Grand Atrium of the Ministry of Sustenance tasted of ozone and old paper. Elias stood in the fourth row of the petitioner’s gallery, his spine rigid...
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