The Golden Ritual
The ledger sat open on the table of the Guildmaster’s high-backed chair, its pages thick as old skin, the ink a black so profound it seemed to suck the light out of the room, and Elara stood before it, her hands trembling not with cold but with the terrible, vibrating realization that the gold she had spent three decades chasing was not a currency at all, but a seal, a brand, a mark of...
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