The Golden Ritual
The bell above the gatehouse clattered, a harsh, iron-tongued sound that cut through the fog rolling off the river, and with it came the voice of the Magistrate, sharp as a blade drawn across a whetstone. "Elias! You are late, Elias. The roll has begun." You stood in the doorway of your quarters, the golden spoon heavy in your left hand, its surface tarnished by the damp air of Oakhaven. You...
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