The Golden Ritual
The bellows hissed in the corner of the workshop, a dry, rhythmic sound that matched the erratic beating of Elias Thorne’s heart. He sat alone, the only light coming from the forge’s dying embers, his fifty-year-old hands hovering over a slab of raw gold that seemed to pulse with a faint, internal heat. The town council had commissioned a ceremonial chalice for the upcoming solstice, a piece...
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