The Golden Cellar
The ledger lay open on the desk. It was a heavy book, bound in cracked leather that smelled of damp earth and old iron. Arthur held it with hands that trembled, not from cold, but from the weight of the words inside. He was a clerk in the lower office, a man of mid-level rank and mid-level sorrow. His name was Arthur Penhaligon, and he had served the Guild for twenty years without a single...
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