The Golden Ritual
The hunt for the Golden Moth had begun in the mud, not the sky. Elara stood with her boots sunk into the wet earth of the village square, her breath hitching in the cold air, her eyes locked on the creature that danced just out of reach. It was not a butterfly. It was not a moth, not really, though the village elders called it that because it was the only word for something so bright and so...
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