The Golden Ritual
The bowl broke against the stone floor with a sound like a bone snapping. Thomas did not flinch. He stood in the center of the infirmary, his hands still raised in the gesture of offering, now empty. The shards of white porcelain glittered in the dim light, mixed with the spilled contents of the vial. It was not water. It was a thick, amber liquid, viscous and heavy, smelling of burnt honey and...
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