The Golden Maze
The air in the alchemical wing of the palace tasted of copper and burnt sugar. Elias, twelve years old and already burdened with the title of Junior Alchemist, watched the mercury in the alembic tremble. He was not there to learn; he was there to save. His father, the King, lay in the adjoining chamber, his breath shallow and rattling, a sound that had become the metronome of Elias’s existence....
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