The Golden Ritual
The chisel bit deep, and the sound was wrong. It did not ring; it groaned, a low, wet tear that traveled up the handle and settled in the marrow of Elias’s wrist. He pulled the tool back, wiping the gray dust from his brow with a forearm that was already stiff with cold. The lintel lay across the workbench, a slab of local limestone the color of old bone, and it was supposed to be the final...
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