The Golden Quest
The mirror in the Hall of Whispers did not reflect light; it reflected time. It was a pane of polished obsidian, framed in iron that had been forged during the reign of a king whose name had been scrubbed from the ledgers, leaving only a blank space where the letters used to be. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands trembling not with cold, but with the specific, vibrating dread of a man who...
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