The Golden Cellar
The air in the undercroft was thick, tasting of wet stone and old iron. Elias did not cough. He had not coughed in three days, and the silence in his chest felt heavier than the dust coating his shoulders. He was a man who knew the weight of things, the architect of the village’s quietest secrets, the keeper of the ledger where debts were not just paid but buried. He stood now in the center of...
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