The Distant Clue
The air in the Hall of Echoes did not smell of dust or decay, as one might expect in a place forgotten by time. It smelled of ozone, of wet stone, and of the metallic tang of blood that had not yet dried. It was a feast, though no plates of silver or crystal were laid out. Instead, the table was the floor itself, a vast expanse of obsidian that reflected the flickering, ghostly light of the...
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