The Golden Ritual
The feast was a lie of candlelight and roasted pork, a suffocating heat that pressed against your skin in the Oakhaven Hall. You stand in the shadows of the gallery, watching the Magistrate toast to "tradition," his voice booming off the stone walls, while your hand tightens around the cold wax fragment in your pocket. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a junior archivist with ink-stained fingers...
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