The Golden Mirror
You will die at dawn, Elias. The voice belongs to the High Inquisitor, Vane, and it carries the dry, rhythmic cadence of a man who has spent a lifetime arranging words into cages, his gaze fixed on a point just above your left shoulder while his fingers drum a slow, impatient tattoo against the polished oak of the interrogation table, a surface so smooth it feels like cold glass under your...
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