The Golden Ritual
The stone of the High Hall had always hummed. Not with the wind, which was merely a guest passing through the iron grates of the upper windows, but with a low, tectonic groan that seemed to rise from the bedrock itself, a vibration that traveled up through the soles of my boots and settled in the marrow of my shins. I stood in the center of the throne room, the air thick with the scent of...
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