The Golden Song
The ink was still wet on the ledger when Elias found the mark. It was a small, jagged symbol, scratched into the wood of his desk with something sharp, perhaps a nail or a piece of bone. It looked like a letter, but a letter from a language that had not been spoken in the courts of the High Council for three centuries. Elias did not feel fear. He felt a strange, cold clarity, as if a fog that...
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