The Golden Ritual
The ink in the vial glows with a dull, arterial pulse, a color like dried blood mixed with honey. You are twelve years old, Thomas, and your hands shake not from the cold of the Guildhouse, but from the weight of the secret you carry in your satchel. Your sister, Elara, lies in the fever ward three streets away, her breath shallow and rattling, a sound that haunts your every waking hour. You...
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