The Golden Ritual
The iron weight of the ceremonial sword sat in his hands. It was heavy. Heavier than it looked. Elias Thorne held it with both gloved fingers, the leather creaking softly in the cold air. The forge was silent. The only sound was the hiss of steam escaping from the pipes overhead and the distant, rhythmic thud of a pile driver somewhere in the city. He stood alone in the center of the workshop....
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