The Golden Ritual
The sky above the valley of Ashwood did not break so much as it dissolved, a slow and agonizing hemorrhage of light that turned the familiar grey of the afternoon into a blinding, suffocating white which erased the horizon and with it, the last vestiges of the old world. Thomas Bradshaw stood in the center of the muddy track, his boots sinking into the earth as if the ground itself were trying...
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